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NOTICE

LIFE AND WAITINGS

BOCCACCIO.

Like many of the greatest geniuses of antiquity, little more
is known of Boccaccio than his writings: and though many have
pretended to give his memoirs, the more important part of
what they have advanced has been founded on conjecture.
Among the many writers of more modern times who have un-
dertaken this task, no one seems to have been better quali-
fied to do justice to the subject than Girolami Tiraboschi.
In his history of Italian literature he has faithfully compared,
and duly appreciated, whatever had been advanced by his
predecessors ; and we feel that we cannot more readily afford
satisfaction to our readers, than by following the course which
he has taken in giving a short sketch of the life and writings
of the noble Florentine.

Our author was the son of Boccaccio de Chellino de Bu-
onajuto. The Chelini, who have since taken the name of
Boccaccio, were originally of Certaldo; a small castle situated
in the Val d'Elsa, about twenty miles from Florence, on the
road de Voltero. " This castle," says Boccaccio himself, "was
the residence of my ancestors before Florence had received
them among the number of her citizens." This observation
will sufficiently explain to us the reason why he calls Certal-
do his country in the inscription which he desired might be
placed on his tomb : and this, together with the circumstance
of his still retaining some property at Certaldo, might have
been sufficient to induce him sometimes to take the name of
Boccaccio de Certaldo, although it was not the place of Jiis
nativity.

It is far from being certain, that Boccaccio was born at Flo-
rence. Le Manni asserts it as a fact ; but, as Tiraboschi
remarks, " It had been as well if he had advanced some proofs ;
especially as the earlier writers leave the matter open to con-
siderable doubt.

NO IK i. 01 l!IK LIFE AND

Villani, the historian, Bays, that the father of Boccaccio
having been led to Paris by his commercia] affairs, became en -
muured of a young ladj of th u city, whom he espou i d, an I
who became the mother of Giovani, Dominic D'Arez; », who
generally follows Villini, differs fro n him in this place, and
s.i\ j, milt he was a natural son; and that it was not till long
alter his birth that hi ^ father married that lady. Le Manni
even asst rts. tli it Sunn/, bishop "t" \ ai on, found in the ar-
chives of Avignon, a dispensation granted to Boccacci ■, I i
able him to enter into holy orders, notwithstanding his d
« f legitimate birth. Tiraboschi concludes that all we can
s «.\ on tli*- Bulged is, that it is very probable that he was born at
Paris; and he expresses a wish that some Florentine wo
at a future day, endeavour t" throw light on this obscure oc-
currence.

It lias been pretended that the parents of Boccaccio ■
poor and of an obscure rank ; and Bayle calls him "th. i
ofa peasant." Le Manni observes, that these assertions are
proved to he untrue by the important employments which
entrusted both to our author ami his father ; by the extensive
commerce of the latter; ami by the property which his family
possessed. It must be admitted however, that the fortune of
Boccaccio himself, towards the end of his life, could not be very
considerable ; though we cannot admit Petrarch's legacy as any
proof of this, as that must be considered rather as being given
as a mark of esteem, than by way of relief to his necessities.
In the edition of L'Ameto — Rome, 1178, Boccaccio is called
'•The Noble Florentine." If nothing conclude can be ga-
thered from this title, it is at least certain that in that flourish-
republic, nobility was not incompatible with commerce;
and the Medici were at once the most illustrious family of
ind the first merchants in the universe.
Thefe can be no doubt respecting the year of Boccaccio's
birth. Petrarch, who was born in 1304, writes to him, ' I
was nine years ol 1 when you were born." Boccaccio then was
born in 1313. It is certain that our author was brought up in
Florence; whether he was born there, or whether he was
brought thither by his father on his return from Paris. lie
acquired the first rudiments of his education under John, son
of the famous poet Zenobi de Strada. His father, who Would
ratherhave made him a great merchant than a celebrated po t,
took him from school at the age of ten years, and placed him
in the house of a Florentine merchant for the purpose of ac-
quiring a knowledge of commerce. 'The merchant for the fur-
thering the improvement of his pupil, took him as his com-
panion in several journeys which he made into different cities;
and among other places the) visited Paris. But here percei-
ving that he had a greater t istr. for literature and the study of
the M-iences than for the more active avo< itions ol trade, he

WRITINGS OF BOCCACCIO. 3

sent him back to Florence. His father, however, would by no
means admit of his applying himself to letters, and the unfor-
tunate Boccaccio was again obliged to travel and occupy him-
self in details for which he had not the slightest inclination.
Having about the twenty-eighth year of his age, made a jour-
ney to Naples, he happened to visit the tomb of Virgil; here
he, as if inspired by same divine enthusiasm, resolved to bid a
perpetual adieu to commerce and to dedicate himself entirely
to poetry. His father, who now lost all hopes, became compel-
led, a3 it were, to let him follow the bent of his taste for the
sciences, on condition that he should apply himself to the stu-
dy of the common law. It has been asserted that the professor
under whom he placed himself, and to whose lectures he at-
tended for near six years, was the celebrated Cinode Pistoia ;
and this has been attempted to be proved by a letter which le
Doni asserts to have been written by Boccaccio to this famous
lawyer, Mazzuchelli, proves that this letter was fabricated by
le Doni ; and further that Cino, who taught the civil law and
not the canon law, died in 1330', when Boccaccio was but twenty
years of age, and employed in his mercantile pursuits. At all
events, the attempt to make him a doctor of canon law was at-
tended with little success; and his father dying in 13 £8, left
him master of his own pursuits.

Boccaccio being now at his own disposal, devoted himself to
poetry, without however neglecting the more useful sciences. He
tells us that Andalion del Nero was his master in astronomy ;
and, without explaining himself, says, that in his youtli he had
studied the sciences which appertain to sacred philosophy.
Benveuto d' Imolo, Francis Barberin, and Paul d' Abacco,
have also been assigned to him as tutors, but without any
foundation, according to Mazzuchelli ; who observes that so
far from being master of Boccaccio, the latter was actually his
pupil. FromLeonzio Pilato, Boccaccio learned the Greek lan-
guage; and he even made considerable efforts to inspire his
countrymen with a taste for that which he calls the true lan-
guage of science.

From the intercourse which he maintained with the most
learned men of his age, from collecting in every quarter, and
copying the best authors of antiquity, both Greek and Latin,
Boccaccio became not only one of the most elegant writers, but
one of the most learned men of that period ; as is evident from
his works on mythology, geography, and history; and the va-
riety of his travels either in the character of an ambassador,
or in his private capacity, were well calculated to add a high
degree of polish to his manners. But we may be assured
that nothing was of greater advantage to Boccaccio than the
correspondence which was maintained between him and Pe-
trarch. It is difficult to fix the epoch of the commencement
B 2

4 NOTICE or THE LIFE AND

of tli ih correspondence. Though he relates the most minute
paiticulan of his journey to Naples he never once mention*
the name of Petrarch. In a letter which the latter wrote to
Boccaccio in loo;;, be calls him Ins " old friend," and reminds
him that "he had seen him in passing through Florence on his
way to Home, iii that memorable year when all Christendom
were assembled then-;" speaking no doubt of the jub Vein
1350. This friendship was still more closely cemented in 135J
when Boccaccio was sent by the Florentines to acquaint Pe-
trarch, then residing at Padua, that his family estate bad been
restored to him ; and to beg that he would honor with his pre-
sence his native university. From that period they had a very
frequi nt correspondence by letter, and appear to have had
n<i secrets from each other.

Boccaccio was employed in other very honourable embas-
sies. About the year 1346, he was sent into Romagnia, and
to Ostasio the sovereign of Ravenna. 'Hie preface to the De-
cameron proves, that in 1348, lie was at Florence, or at least in
the country in its vicinity, where he resided during the plague.
We have said that in 1315 he was sent to Padua. At the end
of the same year the Florentines sent him to Louis, Marquis
of Brandenburg, to solicit him to conic into Italy for the pur-
pose of opposing the power of the Counts of Milan. This em-
bassy had not the success which was expected; and on the re-
port that the emperor Charles IV, intended to pass into Italy,
Boccaccio was sent by his countrymen to Avignon, for the
purpose of concerting with Innocent VI. the reception which
•diould be given him. Up to this period the interviews of 15oe-
caccio and Petrarch had been no more than visits en passant
but in 1359 our author made a journey to Milan for the ex-
press purpose of visiting his friend, and that he might enjoy
his conversation with lc^s restraint. On this occasion Boccac-
cio avows himself under considerable obligations to Petrarch;
particularly for the good advice he had received from him,
the object of which was to induce him to detach himself from
the pleasures of this life, and to turn all his thoughts towards
things of eternity.

It must be admitted that the previous life of Boccaccio was
not the most regular or the most exemplary. His works and
particularly the Decameron, bespeak him a man too loose in
his manners, and who did not always pay a due respect to sa-
cred thniL's. Petrarch, on the other hand, had, amidst manv
foibles, always retained a sense of religion and piety ; and his
friendship was therefore extremely useful to Boccaccio, who,
from this period, began to make serious reflections; and who,
in 1362, entirely changed bis manner of life. Having been
struck in a singular manner by a kind of prediction which had
been made concerning him by father Pctronius, a Carthusian

WRITINGS OF BOCCACCIO. 5

friarof Sienna,* Boccaccio now resolved to renounce poetry and
the Belles Lettres altogether ; and to get rid of all his books.
But here the good sense of his friend interposed itself. Petrarch
told him that it was not at all necessary to cease from the stu-
dy of profane writers much less to dispose of all his books ; and
that it would be sufficient if he made a good use of them, ac-

* This circumstance is related by Mrs. Dobson in the following words .

Letter from Boccaccio to Petrarch.
" A Carthusian of Sienna, whom I know not, came tome at Florence,
and asked to speak to me in private. ' I came hither,' says he, ' from
the desire of the blessed father Petroni, a Carthusian of Sienna, wha,
though he never saw you, by the illumination of Heaven knows you
thoroughly; he charged me to represent to you your extreme danger,
unless you reform your manners and your writings, which are the instru-
ments the devil uses to draw men into his snares, to tempt them to sinful
lusts, and to promote the depravity of their conduct. Ought you not to
blush for such an abuse of the taicnts God has given you for his glory?
What a reward might you have obtained had you made a good use of
that wit and eloquence with which he has endowed you ! On the contrary,
what ought you not to fear, for devoting yourself to love, and waging war
with modesty, by giving lessons of libertinism both in your life and
writings! The blessed Petroni, celebrated for his miracles, and the so-
briety of his life, speaks to you by my voice. lie charged me in his last
moments to beseech and exhort you, in the most sacred manner, to re-
nounce poetry, and thos^ profane studies which have been your constant
employment, and prevented you discharging your duty as a Christian. If
you do not follow my directions, be assured you have but a short time
to live, and that you shall suffer eternal punishments after your death.
God has revealed this to father Petroni, who gave me a strict charge to
inform you of it."

The Carthusian who spoke this to Boccaccio was called Joachim Ciani .
he was the countryman and friend of father Petroni, who died in a re-
ligious rapture, May 1361 ; and, it was said, wrought several miracles
before and after his death. Father Ciani was with him when he was on
his death-bed, and heard him utter several predictions concerning differ-
ent persons ; among whom was Petrarch. Boccaccio, terrified at what fa-
ther Ciani had said, asked him how his friend came to know him and
Petrarch, as they had no knowledge of his friend; to which the good
Carthusian replied: " Father Petroni had resolved to undertake some-
thing for the glory of God, but death preventing him, he prayed to God
with fervour to point out some one who should execute his enterprise :
his prayer was heard ; Jesus Christ appeared to him, and he saw written
on his face all that passes upon earth, the present, the past, and the fu-
ture. After this he cast his eyes upon me for the performance of this
good work, and charged me with this commission for you, with some
others to Naples, France, and England; after which I shall go to Petrarch."
To convince Boccaccio of the truth of what he said, the holy father ac-
quainted him with a secret which Boccaccio thought none knew but him-
self. This discovery, and the threat that he had not long to live, im-
pressed him so strongly, that he was no longer the same man : seized with
a panic terror, and believing death at his heels, he reformed his manners,
renounced love and poetry, and determined to part with his library, which
was almost entirely composed of profane authors. In this situation of
his mind he wrote to his master Petrarch, to give him an account of what
had happened to him, of the resolution he had made to reform his man-
ners, and to offer him his library, giving him the preference to all others :
and begging he would fix the price of the books, some of which might
serve as a discharge of some debts he owed him. Petrarch's repyiy to
this was as follows :

6 NOTICE OF nil: LIFE AND

cording to the example of the moot pioua persons, and even of
the father, and doctors of the church. It is not improbable that
it was at this time he took the cl< rn-.il habit It is certain, how-
ever, that he did take it; and hia will which may be seen
tnle Manni, furnishes an incontrovertible proof.

In 1363, Nicolas Acciaoli grand seneschal >f Naples having
invited him to that capital, Boccaccio suffered hims If to be

"To see Jesus Clirist with bodily eyes is indeed a wonderful thing I
■..that '.u- know it it is true. In all ages men nave covered
fata boodi iriththe veil of religion, that the appearance of divinity might
. the human fraud. When 1 have myself beheld the d
Petroni, 1 ih ill see what faith is to be given to his words ; his age,
hi' forehead, bis eyes, his behaviour, his clothes, Ins motions, bis man-
net "f sitting, his voice, Lis discourse, and the-whole united, will
. nten my judgment,
■• As to wh.^t respects yourself, that you arc not long fortius world, if
we reflect coolly, this is a matter of joy rather than of sorrow. VI
an old man on the borders of the grave, one might ju tly say to him
not at your years give yourself up to poetry, leave the Muses and P -
ait the days of youth.— Your imagination iv ■
r memory fails, your feelings are lost; think rather of death,
. st your heels, and prepare yourself for that awful passage. But
for a man' in the middle age of life, who has cultivated letters an I
Musis with success from his youth, and who makes them his amusement
In rii-er years, to renounce them then is to deprive hims* I
consolation. If this had been required of Lactantius, of St. Augustine,
or St. Jerome, would the firmer have discovered the absurdities of the
heathen superstition .' Would Augustine with BO much art have built up
the city of God ; or St. Jerome combatted heretics with so much strength
and success? I know, by experience, how much the knowledge of letters
mar contribute to produce just opinions; to render a man eloquent; to
perfect his manners ; and. which is much more important, to defend his
religion. If men were not permitted to read poets and heathen writers,
because they do not speak of Jesus Christ, whom they never knew, how
much less ought they to read the works of heretics, who oppose his doc-
trine ' yet this is done with the greatest care by all the defenders of the
faith, 'it is with profane authors as w ith solid food, it nourishes the man
who has a go.>d stomach, and is pernicious only to those who cannot
digest it ; to the mmd that is judicious they are wholesome, but p il
the weak and ignorant. Letters may even render the fori. I
liK'i..us of which we have many examples, and to them they will nevi r
be an obstacle to piety. Tin re are many ways of arriving at truth ami
heaven- long, short, clear, obscure, high, and low, according to the dif-
ferent necessities of men : but ignorance is the only road the idle walk
in surely wisdom may produce as many saint as folly ; and we
be' can ful that w< nev< r< ■ «">d blind devotion, with an i •:.

lightened and industrious piety. If you resolve, however, to part with
your books. I will never sutler them to fall into base hands ; though si pi-
rated in body, we arc united in n ■■> price upon th< m,

I mil make only one condition with you, that we pass:':
of our lives together, and that you shall thus enjoy my books an
own Why do you speak of debt to me? Vouowi me nothing but friend-
ship; tad herein we are equal, because you have always render.
for love Be not, however, deaf I I i e of a friend who calls you to
him I cannot enrich you; if I could, you would have been neb long
aKo; but I have all that is requisite for two Mends, who are united in
h< art, and sheltered under ( lite of Petrarch, colli

from Mivwin: pour la •»• «t« Pttrarck. Vol ii p. 208.

WRITINGS OF BOCCACCIO. 7

persuaded to accept the invitation, and repaired thither ac-
cordingly. Butnothaving been received with the degree of re-
spect to which he conceived himself entitled, he immediately
left the court in disgust. It is even said that his reception
there gave him a disgust to the world, and that it was on that
occasion he became a carthusian ; and Francis Sachetti has
composed a sonnet on the subject. On his return from Na-
ples, Boccaccio passed through Venice and remained three
months there with Petrarch. Two years after this he was
sent by the Florentines as ambassador to Urban V. then at
Avignon. This pope was dissatisfied with them, for some cause
or other, and Boccaccio was so fortunate as to be able to ap-
pease him, by the explanation he gave of their conduct. On
his return he was nominated one of the magistrates appoint-
ed for the superintendence of the military establishments.
In 1368, he again visited Venice, under the hope of meeting
Petrarch, but had the mortification to find that he had jus!
left that city for Pavia. In 1373, the Florentines gave a still
further proof of their esteem for him. Having resolved to
found a public chair for the elucidation of the poetry of Dante,
nobody appeared to them so well calculated for the office as
Boccaccio and he accordingly in October, 1373, began his ex-
plication of thatpoet, whom even the Italians themselves scarce-
ly understood, though it was then not quite fifty years since
his death. Petrarch died the ISthof July, 1374, and'his friend,
who has been improperly called his disciple, survived him lit-
tle more than a year. During the disturbances into which Flo-
rence was thrown by the contending interest of its factions, Boc-
caccio frequently retired to Certaldo, and in that retreat he
died the 21st. of December, 1375, and was interred with those
honours which were due to his personal merits.

With us Boccaccio is only known as a novelist, but the Ita-
lians have always considered him as one of the greatest mas-
ters of their language. His contemporaries considered him a
man of the greatest understanding ; and his natural genius, to-
gether with his uncommonly extensive acquirements, rendered
him at once capable of serving his country in the most deli-
cate negociations, and of doing her honor by his writings.
Villani, says, that in his person Boccaccio was " rather inclined
to corpulence, but his stature was portly, his face was round,
with a nose a little depressed above the nostrils ; his lips ra-
ther full, but nevertheless handsome and well formed ; his
chin dimpled, and beautiful when he smiled ; his aspect jo-
cund and gay, and his conversation agreeable and polished."
It may perhaps seem strange, to some, that we have not
already said something of his amours with the fair Fiammeta.
We are not ignorant that it has been pretended that Boccaccio
having visited Naples in his youth, became enamoured of a
lady to whom he gave the name of Fianimetta, but whose true

NOTICE OF THE LIFE AND

jinn;..- ' : natural daughter to kin. R • ■

bert; and that, th n of distinguished

rank, she returned th< manner not

• with the characti r I I

had an attachm whom he gave the name <>t

Fiammetta, is no doubt true; and that »re he

mounted th \ a lady, 1 y whom he

had .1 daug liter, may ; le ; hut it

certain, that this daughter
gave the name of Fiammetta.

v iccio c impose I in Latin," Aoabri I f the Roman

History," from llomulu I I rithapara-

llel of the seven kings of Home, and of the emperors till
N », inclusive:'" The History of illustrious Women ;" "The Ge-
•• A i re • isi oi VI i il tin . Seas, and Hi-
vere, &c." --" Decasibus \ irorum Illustrium." This
with Adam and ended with John, king ol Fraw e, taken by the
English in the year !•- !. It was translate i into h
nish, English, and French. We may add a letter to Fra Mar-
tino da Segni Agostiniano, his confessor, and in Latin verse

As f ■ th books which arc ascribe 1 to Boccaccio, " De Vic-
toriis Sigismundi Imperatoris in Turchas ;" " De II on
Boemorum ;" "De Capta Constantinopoli ; and " DeTartarorum
Victoria in Turchas ;" they seem chimerical, and some of them
certainly arc .so.

In Italian he wrote," II Filocopo," "La Fiammetta," "L'A-

meto," "II Laberintod' Amore," "IlComentodiDante," "La

Vita di Dante," and "il decamerone." With respect to his

il compositions, they have been said to be far from placing

him high on the rolls of Parnassus. Balthasar, perhaps too ■ -

verely, styles him r xfic ; and Paoli Rolli, at

the end of his e lition of the Decame one, 17--">. makes th

marks on this head. Boccaccio prol ssed poetry fbutne volgari v* rsi,

he was by no means bl >sse i with a favourable vein. Hedidnot

understand the varieti isof v< r ification, and although his novels

are replete with poetical images, and phrases full os grace and

t the ( inclusion of each da) .

-•rity. Kollitheii' t many excellent verses

I his delightful prose ; and

proceeds to lay before the reader a collection amounting in

number, to six hundred an 1

But whatever mir t .1 ingenious novelist may

suffer from criticism, on ( f mediocrity in hi-, irerei

amply rec mp nsed by the tribute so readily and universally
paid i ns, in his native tongue ; and it,

in the f irmer, he falls short of many, in the latter he has un-
doubtedly the ad\ surpassing all. "The merit <>f
i >, ' observes Mr. Boscoe, in ins life of Lorenzo de

WRITINGS OF BOCCACCIO. 9

Medici, v. i. p. 239, "has been frequently recognised and
appreciated, but perhaps by no one with more accuracy than
by Lorenzo himself. In attempting to shew the importance
and dignity of the Italian tongue, he justly remarks, that the
proofs of its excellence are to be sought for in the writings of
Dante, Petrarcha, and Boccaccio ; ' who,' says he, ' have fully
shewn with what facility this language may be adapted to the
expression of every sentiment. " He then proceeds to speak
of our Author in these terms. " The prose compositions of the
learned and eloquent Boccaccio may be considered as unrival-
led, not only on account of the invention which they display,
but for the copiousness and elegance of the style. If, on pe-
rusing the Decameron, we attend to the diversity of the sub-
jects, sometimes serious or tragical, at others, humourous or
ridiculous, exhibiting all the perturbations incident to man-
kind, of affection and of aversion, of hope and of fear ; if we
consider the great variety of the narrative, and the invention
of circumstances which display all the peculiarities of our na-
ture, and all the effects of our passions, we may undoubtedly
be allowed to determine, that no language is better adapted
to the purposes of expression than our own."

The dramatic form which Boccaccio gave to his collection of
tales or novels about the middle of the fourteenth century,
must be allowed to have been a capital improvement of that
species of composition. The Decameron, in that respect, not
to mention many others, has the same advantage over the
" Cento Novelle Antiche,' ' which are supposed to have preceded
it in point of time, that a regular comedy will necessarily have
over an equal number of single unconnected scenes. Perhaps,
indeed, there would be no great harm, according to the opi-
nion of Mr. Tyrwhytt, from whom we are now quoting, if the
critics would permit us to consider the Decameron, and other
compositions of that kind, in the light of comedies not inten-
ded for the stage.

The action of the Decameron being supposed in 1348, the
year of the great pestilence, it is probable that Boccaccio did
not set about his work till after that period. How soon he
completed it is uncertain. It should seem that a part (con-
taining perhaps, the first three days) was published separately;
for in the introduction to the fourth day he takes pains to an-
swer the censures, which had been passed upon him by seve-
ral persons who had read his novels. One of the censures is,
" that it did not become his age to write for the amusement of
women, &c." In his answer he seems to allow the fact, that
he was rather an old fellow, but endeavours to justify himself by
the examples of " Guido Cavalcanti et Dante Alighieri gia
vecchi et Messer Cino da Pistoia vecchissimo." It appears from
a passage in the " Laberinto d' Amore," [Ed. 1723, t. iii. p.
24] that Boccaccio considered himself as an elderly man when

lo NOTICE OP TIIK LIFE AM)

hi was a little turm lof forty; and therefore the publi
of the first part of the Decameron i • 11 have been, as

Salviati has fixed it, in 1353, when I i was just forty

If we consider the nature of th ; th i

the Author, in ln> conclu it repeatedly "lunga

says that u tnolto tempo" ha I p ■ i between the
commencement and the completion of k. »\ can hardly sup-
pose thai a was finished in less ih in I which will
the publication <>!' the entire collection of novels, aa we
now It ive it, >!<>\s n to l •

i m his Latin works with plagiarism,

and \ uses him of the s-une practice in the

.i. That this is true in some degree will not be

doubted, butinwhat m not now be well ascertained.

Walton, in his 11 1 jtory of English Poetry, says he once fan-
Boccaccio might have procured the stories of si vera!
ol his late tales in the Decameron from some of his learned
exiles; who, being driven from
Constantinople, took refuge in li i!v about the fourteenth cen-
tury; as, for instance, that of " Cymon and Iphigenia," where
the names are entirely Grecian and the scene laid in Rhodes,
< s, Crete, and other parts of Greece, belonging to the

imperial territory.

The Historic ami Poetica opera mentioned hy Boccaccio,
as brought from Constantinople by his preceptor Barlaam,
undoubtedly works of entertainment, and perhaps chiefly
ol the romantic and fictitious species. It is natural to suj
that Boc< iccio, both from his connexions and his curiosity,
was no stranger to these treasures : and that many of these
pieces, thus imported into Italy by the dispersion of the G n-
btantinopolitan exiles, are only known at present through the
medium of his writings. It is certain that many oriental fic-
tions found their way into Europe by means of this communi-
cation.

Another source of Boccaccio's Tales. Philip's ston of the
; the young man who had never seen a woman, in the
prologue to the fourth day of the Decameron, is taken from a
spiritual romance, called the Hi-* un and Josaphat.

Thisfabulou8 narrative, in which Barlaam is a hermit, and Jo-
saphat a king of India, is supposed to have hern originally
written in Greek by Joharui nus. The Greek is

no uncommon manuscript

He c< pied many of the bi si tales from the Troubadours, the
circulation, of wh | • j in other countries was greatly fa-
cilitated l>y the early universalis of the French langi
particularly from Uutebeuf and Hcbers. Rutcbeuf was living
in the year 1310. He wrote tali s and stories of entertainment
in verse. It i-. certain thai Bo< took from this old In nch

Minstrel, nov. x. Giorn. ix. and perhaps two or three other*.

WRITINGS OF BOCCACCIO. 11

Hebers lived about the year 1200. He wrote a French romance
in verse, called the " Seven Sages of Greece, or Dolopathos."
He translated it from the Latin of Dom Johans, a monk of the
abbey of Haute-selve. It has great variety, and contains se-
veral agreeable stories, pleasant adventures emblems, and pro-
verbs. Our Author has taken from it four tales.

It must not be forgotten that Sacchetti published tales before
Boccaccio. But the publication of the Decameron gave a
stability to this mode of composition, which had existed in a
rude state before the revival of letters in Italy. Boceaccio col-
lected the common tales of his country, and procured, as we have
observed, others of Grecian origin from his friends and precep-
tors the Constantinopolitan exiles, which he decorated with
new circumstances, and delivered in the purest style. Some few,
perhaps, are of his own invention. He was soon imitated, yet
often unsuccessfully, by many of his countrymen ; Poggio,
Bandello, the anonymous author of " Le ciento Novell e An-
tique," Cinthio, Firenzuola, Malespini, and others. — Even
Machiavel, who united the liveliest wit with the profoundest re-
flection, and who composed two comedies while be was
compiling a political history of his country, condescended to
adorn this fashionable species of writing with his " Novella di
Belfegov" or the Tale of Belphegor.

Before the year 1570, William Paynter, clerk of the office of
arms within the Tower of London, and who seems to have been
master of the school of Seven Oaks in Kent, printed a very
considerable part of Boccaccio's novels. His first collection
is entitled, " ; The Palace of Pleasure, ' the first volume containing
sixty novels out of Boccaccio. London. 1536." It is dedicated
to Lord Warwick. A second volume soon appeared. " ' The
Palace of Pleasure,' the second volume containing thirty-four
novels. London. 15(37." This is dedicated to Sir George
Howard, and dated from his house near the Tower, as is the
former volume. It would be superfluous to point out here the
uses which Shakespeare made of these productions, after the
investigation which his ancient allusions and his plots have
so fully and minutely received from his commentators, whose
ingenious researches have been connected and enriched by
the able and learned Isaac Reed, in his complete edition of
Shakespeare's plays in twenty-one volumes, Svo. 1803.

Several tales of Boccaccio's Decameron were now transla-
ted into English rhymes. The celebrated story of the friend-
ship of "Titus and Gesippus" was rendered by Edward Le-
wicke, a name not known in the catalogue of English poets, in
1562. It is not suspected, says Warton, that those affecting
stories, the "Cymon and Iphigenia," and the " Theodore and
Honoria" of our novelist, so beautifully paraphrased by
Dryden, appeared in English verse early in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth.

12 No I ICE OF Mir. LIFE AND

Chaucer's Clerka declares, in bis prologue to the "Clerke of
<>\ nforde's Tales," or the story of "Patient Grisilde," that ho
learned it of Petrarch, at Padua. But it was the invention of

Boccaccio, mid is the last in the Decameron. Petrarch,
although must intimately connected with Boccaccio for near-
ly thirty years, never had Been the Decameron till just before
his (hath.

It accidentally fell into his hands, while he resided at Arque,
between Venice and Padua, in the year 1374. The tale of
Grisilde struck him thr must of any ; so much, that he trot it
by heart, to relate to his friends at Padua. Finding that it was
the must popular of Boccaccio's Tales, for the benefit of those
who did not understand Italian, and to spread its circulation,
he translated it into Latin, with some' alterations. Petrarch
relates this in a letter to Boccaccio ; and adds that, on shewing
the translation to one of his Paduan friends , the latter, touched
with the tenderness of the story, burst into such frequent and
violent tits of tears, that he could not read to the end. In the
same letter he says that a Veronese, having heard of the I'
duan's exquisiteness of feeling upon this occasion, resolved to
try the experiment. He read the whole aloud, from the begin-
ning to the end, without the least change of voice or countenance;
but, on returning the hook to Petrarch, confessed th it it was
an affecting story : " 1 should have wept," added he, " like the
Paduan, had I thought the story true. But the whole is a
manifest fiction. There never was, nor ever will be, such a
wife as Grisilde."

Chaucer, as our Clerke' s declaration in the prologue seems
to imply, received this tale from Petrarch, and not from Boc-
caccio ; and we are inclined to think, that he did not take
it from Petrarch's Latin translation, but that he was one of
those friends to whom Petrarch used to relate i( at Padua. —
This too appears sufficiently pointed out in the words of the
prologue.

I wolle you telle a tale which that I
Lernid at Padov* of a worthie clerke:
Frauncis Petrarke, the laureate poete,
Hightin this clerke, whose rhetorike so swete
Enluminid Italic of poetrie.

Chaucer's tali is also much longer and more circumstantial
than Boccaccio's. Petrarch's Latin translation from the lat-
ter was never printed. It is in the royal Horary at Paris, and
in that of Magdalene College at Oxford.

The story soon became so popular in Trance, that the corae-
di ins of Paris represented a mystery in French verse, entitled
■• I..- Mystere de Griseildis Marquis de Saluces," in theyear 1393.
Lydgate almost Chaucer's contemporary, in his manuscript poem
entitled" The Temple of Gla&S," among the celebrated lovers

WRITINGS OF BOCCACCIO. 13

painted on the walls of the Temple, mentions Dido, Medea
and Jason, Penelope, Alcestis, Patient Grisilde, Bel Isoulde,
and Sir Tristram, Pyramus and Thisbe, Theseus, JiUcretia,
Canace, Palamon and Emilia.

In the osservaxioni prefixed to Martinelli's edition of Boc-
caccio, London,. 1762, Sig nor Manni has, with some research
and learning, investigated the merits of each novel, its lan-
guage and its origin, whether entirely fictitious, or founded on
act, borrowed or original, and what obligations are owing to it
by others since its publication. Tbese observations, however,
occupy thirty-five quarto pages, and as they proceed on the sys-
tem of entering into every novel, which system must be
wholly or not at all pursued, we reluctantly abandon them,
preferring rather to say too little, than to extend our account
to such an inordinate length as to become heavy and weari-
some.

Here then we shall briefly (if we may be allowed at this hour
to use such a term remark, that Boccaccio's Tales have been
translated, at different periods, into most languages, and his
imitators and debtors are without end. His Decameron
has been a store from which, confessedly, and frequently other-
wise, innumerable authors, since his day, have drawn with-
out scruple, and often with more wisdom than honestv.
We have pointed out some instances of the wealth acquired by
Chaucer from this source ; and various advantages which
Shakespeare and others have derived from the same spring,
might, but for the reason already given, be added to swell the
list; for we may justly say, with Milton, alluding to this work
of our Author :

Hither, as to their fountain, other stars
Repairing, in their golden urns, draw light.

Or we may affirm of him what Doctor Johnson has well
observed of Homer, " That nation after nation, and century
after century, has been able to do little more than transpose
his incidents, new name las characters, and paraphrase his sevti-
Tnents."

1 1

INTRODUCTION.

TO THE LADIES.

Whenever I reflect how disposed you are by nature to com-
passion, I cannot lid]) being apprehensive, lest what 1 now of-
fer to your acceptance should seem to have but a melancholy
ning. For it calls to mind the remembrance of that
most fatal plague, so terrible yet in the memories of us all, an
account of which is in the front of the book. But be not
frightened toe soon, as if you expected to meet with nothing
This beginning, disagreeable as it is is as a rugged and
Steep mountain placed b lore a delightful valley, which ap-
pears more beautiful and pleasant, as the way to it was more
difficult: for as joy usually i mis with sorrow, so again the
end of sorrow is joy. To this short fatigue (I call it short, be-
cause contained in few words) immediately succeeds the mirth
and pleasure 1 had before promised you; and which, but for
that promise you would scarcely expect to find. And in truth
could I have brought you by any other way than this, 1 would
gladly have done it: but as the occasion of the occurrences,
of which I am going to treat, could not well be made out
with, ut such a relation, I am forced to use this Introduction.

In the year then of our Lord 1348, there happened at Flo-
rence, the finest city in all Italy, a most terrible plague; which
whether owing to the influence of the planets, or that it was
sent from God as a just punishment for our sins, had broken out
in the Levant ; and after passing fiom place
to place, and making incredible havoc all the way, had now
reached the west ; where, spite of all the means that art and
human foresight could keeping the city clear iron)

tilth, and excluding all suspected persons ; notwithstanding
frequent consultations what else was to lie done; nor omitting
prayers to God in frequ< nt proc< ssions : in the spring of the
going year, it beg in to slow itself in a sad and wonderful man-
ner; and, different from what it had been in the east, where,
bleeding from the nose is tie- fatal prognostic, here, there ap-
peared certain tumours in the na-ins, or under the arm-juts,

INTRODUCTION. 15

some as big as a small apple, others as an egg ; and after-
wards purple spotsin mostparts of the body : in some eases large
and but few in number, in others less and more numerous, both
sorts the usual messengers of death. To the cure of this ma-
lady, neither medical knowledge, nor the power of drugs was
of any effect ; whether because the disease was in its own
nature mortal, or that the physicians (the number of whom,
taking quacks and women pretenders into tbe account was
grown very great) could form no just idea of the cause, nor
consequently ground a true method of cure ; which ever was
the reason, few or none escaped ; but they generally died the
third day from the first appearance of the symptoms, without
a fever or other bad circumstance attending. And the dis-
ease by being communicated from the sick to the well, seemed
daily to get-a-head, and to rage the more as fire will do, by
laying on fresh combustibles. Nor was it given by conversing
with only, or coming near the sick, but even by touching their
clothes, or anything that they had before touched. It is won-
derful, what I am going to mention ; which had I not seen
it with my own eyes, and were there not many witnesses to at-
test it besides myself, I should never venture to relate, however
credibly I might have been informed about it ; such I say, was
the quality of the pestilential matter, as to pass not only from
man to man, but, what is more strange, and has been often
known, that anything belonging to the infected, if touched
by any other creature, would certainly infect, and even kill
that creature in a short space of time ; and one instance of this
kind I took particular notice of ; namely, that the rags of a
poor man just dead, being thrown into the street, and two hogs
coming by at the same time, and rooting amongst them, and
shaking them about in their mouths, in less than an hour
turned round, and died on the spot. These accidents, and
others of the like sort, occasioned various fears and devices
amongst those people that survived, all tending to the same
uncharitable, and cruel end ; which was, to avoid the sick, and
everything that had been near them ; expecting by that
means to save themselves. And some holding it best to live
temperately, and to avoid excesses of all kinds, made parties,
and shut themselves up from the rest of the world ; eating and
drinking moderately of the best, and diverting themselves with
music, and such other entertainments as they might have within
doors ; never listening to anything from without, to make
them uneasy. Others maintained free living to be a better
preservative, and would baulk no passion or appetite they
wished to gratify, drinking and revelling incessantly from ta-
vern to tavern, or in privatehouses, which were frequently found
deserted by the owners, and therefore common to every one ;
yet avoiding, with all this irregularity, to come near the infected.
And such, at that time was the public distress, that the laws,

16" INTRODUCTION.

human or divine, were not regarded; for the officers, to put
them in force, being either dead, sick, or in want of persons
to assist them; everyone did just as he pleased. A third
sort of people chose a method between these two ; not confi-
ning themselves to rules of diet like the former, and yet avoid-
ing the intemperance of the latter ; but eating and drinking
what their appetites required, they walked every where with
odours and nosegays to smell to , as holding it best to corro-
borate the brain : for they supposed the whole atmosphere to
be ; tinted with the stink of dead bodies, arising partly from
the distemper itself, and partly from the fermenting of the me-
dicines within them. Others of a more cruel disposition, as
perhaps the more sate to themselves, declared, that the oidy
remedy was to avoid it : persuaded, therefore of this, and tak-
ing care for themselves only, men and women in great numbers
left the city, their houses, relations, and effects, and fled
into the country : as if the wrath of God had been restrained to
visit those only within the walls of the city; or else concluding,
that none ought to stay in a place thus doomed to destruction.
Divided as they W< re. neither did all die nor all escape; hut
falling sick indifferently, as well those of one as of another
opinion; they who first set the example by forsaking others,
now languished themselves, without mercy. 1 pass over the
little regard that citizens and relations shewed to each other;
for their terror was such, that a brother even Med from his bro-
ther, a wife from her husband, and what is more uncommon,
a parent from its own child. On which account numbers that
fell sick could have no help but what the charity of friends,
who were very few, or the avarice of servants supplied ; and
even these were scarce, and at extravagant wages, and so lit-
tle used to the business, that they were only fit to reach what
was called for, and observe when they died; and this desire
of getting money often cost them their lives.

from this desertion of friends, and scarcity of servants, an un-
heard of custom prevailed ; no lady, however young or hand
some, would disdain being attended by a man-servant, whether
young or old it mattered not; and to expose herself naked
to him, the necessity of the distemper requiring it, as though
it was to a woman ; which might make those who recovered, less
modest lor the time to come. And many lost their lives, who
might have escaped, had they been looked after at all. So
that, between tin scarcity of servants, and violence of the
distemper, Buch numbers were continually dying, as made
it terrible to hear as well as to behold. Whence, from mere
necessity, many customs were introduced, different from what
had been before known in the city. It had been usual, as it
now is lor the women who were friends anil neighbours to the
deceased, to meet together at his house, and to lament with
bis relations ; at the same tune the men would get together

INTRODUCTION 17

at the door, with a number of clergy, according to the person's
circumstances ; and the corpse was carried by people of his own
rank, with the solemnity of tapers and singing, to that church
where the person had desired to be buried ; which custom was
now laid aside, and, so far from having a crowd of women to
lament over them, that great numbers passed out of the world
without a single person : and few had the tears of their friends
at their departure; but those friends would laugh, and make
themselves merry; for even the women had learned to postpone
every other concern to that of their own lives. Nor was a corpse
attended by more than ten, or a dozen, nor those citizens of
credit, but fellows hired for the purpose ; who would put them-
selves under the bier, and carry it with all possible haste to
the nearest church ; and the corpse was interred, without any
great ceremony, where they could find room.

W'iih regard to the lower sort, and many of a middling rank,
the scene was still more affecting ; for they, staying at home
either through poverty, or hopes of succour in distress, fell sick
daily by thousands, and, having nobody to attend them, gene-
rally died : some breathed their last in the streets, and others
shut up in their own houses, when the stench that came from
them, made the first discovery of their deaths to the neighbour-
hood. And, indeed, every place was filled with the dead. A
method now was taken, as well out of regard to the living, as
pity for the dead, for the neighbours, assisted by what porters
they could meet with, to clear all the houses, and lay the bodies
at the doors; and every morning great numbers might be
seen brought out in this manner ; from whence they were
carried away on biers, or tables, two or three at a time; and some
times it has happened, that a wife and her husband, two or three
brothers, and a father and son, have been laid on together : it
has been observed also, whilst two or three priests have walked
before a corpse with their crucifix, that two or three sets of
porters have fallen in with them ; and where they knew but of
one, they have buried six, eight, or more : nor was there any to
follow, and shed a few tears over them ; for things were come
to that pass, that men's lives were no more regarded than the
Mvesof so many beasts. Hence it plainly appeared, that what
the wrisest in the ordinary course of things, and by a common
train of calamities, could never be taught, namely, to bear
them patiently ; this, by the excess of those calamities, was now
grown a familiar lesson to the most simple and unthinking.
The consecrated ground no longer containing the numbers
which were continually brought thither, especially as they
were desirous of laying every one in the parts allotted to their
families ; they were forced to dig trenches, and to put them
in by hundreds, piling them up in rows, as goods are stowed
in a ship, and throwing in little earth till they were filled to
the top. Not to rake any farther into the particulars of our
c 2

L8 INTRODUCTION.

misery, I Bhall observe, that it fared DO better with the adjacent

country; for to omit the different castles about u\ whi :li pre-
sentedthe same view in miniature with the city, you might see
the poor distressed labourers, with their families, without either
the plague or physicians, or help of servants, languishing on the
highways, in the Gelds, and in their own houses, and I
rather like cattle thao human creatures ; and growing dissolute
in their manners like the citizens, and careless of everything,
as supposing every day to be their last, tlieir thoughts wire
not so much employed how to improve, as to make use of their
substance for their present support: whence it hap] ened that
the flocks, herds, &c. and the dogs themselves, ever faithful
to tlieir masters, being driven from their own homes, would
wander, no regard being had to them* among the forsaken
harvest; and many times, after they had filled themselves in
the day, would return of their own accord like rational crea-
tures at night. What can I say more, if I return to the city ?
unless that such was the cruelty of Heaven, and perhaps of
men, that between March and July following, it is Buppi .. J,
and made pretty certain, that upwards of a hundred thou- and
souls perished in the city only; whereas, hefore that calamity,
it was not supposed to have contained so many inhabitants.
What magnificient dwellings, what noble palaces were then
depopulated to the last person! what families extinct ! what
riches and vast possessions left, and no known heir to inherit!
what numbers of both sexes in the prime and vigour of youth,
whom in the morning neither Galen, Hippocrates, nor /Kscula-
pius himself, but would have declared in perfect health ;
after dining heartily with their friends here, have supped with
tlieir departed friends in the other world! But I am weary of
recounting our late miseries; therefore, passing by every
thing that 1 can well omit, I shall onlj observi , that the city
being left almost without inhabitants, it happened one Tues-
day i" the evening, as I was informed by persons of good
credit, that seven ladies all in deep mourning, as most proper
for that time, had been attending Divine service (being the
whole congregation), in new St. Mary's Church: who, as
united by the ties either of friendship or relation, and of suitable
years ; viz. the youngest not less than eighteen, nor the elde t
exceeding twenty-eight; so were they all discreet, nobly des-
cended, and perfectl) accomplished, both in person and beha-
viour. 1 do not mention their nanus, lest they should be ilis-
ph ased \\ ah some things s ml to have passed in conversation,
there being a greater restraint on those diversions now ; nor
would 1 give a handle to ill-natured persons, who cup at every
thing that is praiseworthy, to detract in any way from their
modesty by injurious reflections. And tli.it 1 may relate
therefore all that occurred without confusion, I shall affix
names to every one, bearing some resemblance to the quality

INTRODUCTION. i9

of the person. The eldest then I call Pampinea, the next to
her Flammetta, the third Philomena, the fourth Emilia, the
fifth Lauretta, the sixth Neiphile, and the youngest Eliza :
who being got together, by chance rather than any appoint-
ment, into a corner of the church, and there seated in a ring ;
and leaving off their devotions, and falling into some discourse
together concerning the nature of the times ; in a little while
Pampinea thus began :

" My dear girls, you have often heard as well as I, that no
one is injured, where we only make an honest use of our own
reason : now reason tells us, that we are to preserve our lives
by all possible means ; and, in some cases, at the expense of
the lives of others. And if the laws, which regard the good
of the community, allow this, may not we much rather, (and all
that mean honestly as we do,) without giving offence to any,
use the .means now in our power for our own preservation i
Every moment when I think of what has passed to-day, and
every day, I perceive, as you may also, that we are all in pain
for ourselves. Nor do I wonder at this; but much rather,
as we are women, do I wonder that none of us should look out
for a remedy, where we have so much reason to be afraid. We
stay here for no other purpose, that I can see, but to observe
what numbers come to be buried, or to listen if the monks, who
are now reduced to a very few, sing their services at the proper
times, or else to shew by our habits the greatness of our dis-
tress. And if we go from hence, we are saluted with numbers
ol the dead and sick carried along the streets ; or with persons
who had been outlawed for their villanies, now facing it out
publicly, in defiance of the laws. Or we see the scum of the
city, enriched with the public calamity, and insulting us with
reproachful ballads. Nor is any thing talked of, but that such
an one is dead, or dying ; and, were any left to mourn, we should
hear nothing but lamentations. Or if we go home (1 know
not whether it fares with you as with myself), when I find out
of a numerous family not one left, besides a maid-servant,
I am frightened out of my senses : and go where I will, the
ghosts of the departed seem always before ; not like the per-
sons whilst they were living, but assuming a ghastly and
dreadful aspect.

" Therefore the case is the same, whether we stay here, depart
hence, or go home ; esp-ecially as there are few who are able
to go, and have a place to go to left but ourselves. And those
few, I am told, fall into all sorts of debauchery } and even the
religious, and ladies shut up in monasteries, supposing them-
selves entitled to equal liberties with others, are as bad as the
worst. And if this be so, (as you see plainly it is) what do
we here ? What are we dreaming of ? Why less regardful or
our lives than other people of theirs ? Are we of less value to
ourselves, or are our souls and bodies more firmly united, ami

20 INTRODUCTION.

so in less danger of dissolution ? Tis monstrous to think in
such a manner ; so many of b >th sixes dying of this distem-
per in the very prime of their youth, affords us an undeniable
argument to the contrary. Wherefore, lest through our own
wilfulness or neglect, this calamity, which might have heen
prevented, should befal us, I should think it best (and 1 hope
you will join with me) tor us to quit the town, and avoiding,
as we would death itself, the had example of others, to choose
some place of retirement, of which every one of us has more
than one, where we may make ourselves innocently merry,
without offering the least violence to the dictates of reason
and our own consciences. There will our ears he entertained
with the warbling of the birds, and our eves with the verdure
of the hills and valleys ; with the waving of corn-fields like
the sea itself; with trees of a thousand different kinds, and a
more open and serene sky ; which, however overcast, yet affords
a far more agreeable prospect than these desolate walls. The
air also is pleasanter, and there is greater plenty of every thing,
attended with fewer inconveniences ; for, though people die
there as well as here, yet we shall have fewer such ohjects
before us, as the inhabitants are less in number ; and on the
other part, if I judge right, we desert nobody, but are rather
ourselves forsaken. For all our friends, either by death, or
endeavouring to avoid it, have left us, as if we in no way be-
longed to them. As no blame then can ensue by following
this advice, and perhaps sickness and death by not doing so,
I would have us take our maids, and every thing we may be
supposed to want, and to remove everyday to a different place,
taking all the diversions in the mean time which the season
will permit ; and there continue, unless death should interpose,
till we see what end Providence designs for these things. And
this I remind you of, that your character will stand as fair by
our going away reputably, as the characters of others will do,
who stay at home with discredit."

The ladies having heard what Pampinea had to offer, not
only approved of it, but were going to concert measures for
their departure, when Philomena, who was a most discreet
person, made answer : " Though Pampinea has spoken well,
yet there is no occasion to run hand over head into it, as you
are about to do. We are hut women, nor are any of us so igno-
rant, not to know how little able we shall be, to conduct such
an affair, without some man to help us. We are naturally
fickle, obstinate, suspicious, and fearful ; and I doubt much,
unless we take somebody into our scheme to manage it for us,
lest it soon be at an end ; ami perhaps, little to our reputation.
Let us provide against this, therefore, b< Ion- we begin."

Eliza then replied : " It is true, man is the head of a woman,
and without his management, it seldom happens, that any un-
dertaking of our., succeeds well. But how are these men t >

INTRODUCTION. 21

be come at ? We all know that the greatest part of our male
acquaintance are dead, and the rest all dispersed abroad, avoid-
ing what we seek to avoid, and without our knowing where
to find them. And to take strangers with us, would not be
altogether so proper ; for, whilst we have regard to our health,
we should so contrive matters, that, wherever we go to repose
and divert ourselves, no scandal may ensue from it." Whilst
this was debated, behold three gentlemen came into the church,
the youngest not less than twenty-five years of age, and in whom
neither the adversity of the times, the loss of relations and
friends, nor even fear for themselves, could stifle or indeed cool,
the passion of love. One was called Pamphilus, the second
Philostratus, and the third Dioneus, all of them well bred,
and pleasant companions ; and who, to divert themselves in
this time of affliction, were then in pursuit of their mistresses,
who by chance were three of these seven ladies, and the other
four all related to one or other of them. These gentlemen were
no sooner within view, but the ladies had immediately their
eyes upon them ; and Pampinea said, with a smile, " See, for-
tune is with us, and has thrown in our way three prudent and
worthy gentlemen, who will conduct and wait upon us, if we
think fit to accept of their service." Neiphile, with a blush,
because she was one that had an admirer, answered : " Take
care what you say ; I know them all indeed to be persons of
character, and fit to be trusted, even in affairs of more conse-
quence, and in better company ; but, as some of them are
enamoured of certain ladies here, I am only concerned lest we
be drawn into some scrape or scandal, without either our fault
or theirs." Philomena replied : " Never tell me, so long as
I know myself to be virtuous, what other people may think ;
God and the truth will be my defence : and if they be will-
ing to go, we will say with Pampinea, that fortune is with us."
The rest hearing her speak in this manner, gave consent that
they should be called, and invited to partake in this expedition.
And, without more words, Pampinea, related to one of the
three, rose up, and made towaras them, who were standing at
a distance, attentive to what passed, and, after a cheerful
salutation, acquainted them with their design, and entreated
that they would, out of pure friendship, oblige them with their
company. The gentlemen at first took it all for a jest ; but,
being assured to the contrary immediately answered that they
were ready ; and, to lose no time, gave the necessary orders
for what they would have done. Every thing being thus pre-
pared, and a messenger dispatched before, whither they in-
tended to go, the next morning, which was Wednesday, by
break of day, the ladies, with some of their women, and the
gentlemen, with every one his servant, set out from the city,
and, after they had travelled two short miles, came to the place
appointed. It was a little eminence, remote from any great

22 INTRODUCTION.

road, covered with trees and plants of an agreeable verdure ;
on the top of which was a stately palace, with a grand ami
beautiful court in the middle: within were galleries, and fine
apartments elegantly fitted up, and adorned with most curious
paintin rs ; around it were fine meadows, and most delij htful
gardens, with fountains of the purest and best water. The
vaults als.. were Btored with the richest wines, suited ratlin- to
the taste of debauchees, than of modest and virtuous ladies.
This palace they found cleared out, and every thing set in
order for their reception, with the rooms all graced with the
flowers • ison, to their great satisfaction. Being seated,

Dioneus, who was the ; I I them all, and full of words,

began : " Your wisdom it is, ladies, rather than any foresight
of ours, which has brought us hither. I know not how you
have disposed of your cares ; as for mine I left them all behind
me when 1 came from home. Either prepare, then, to be as
merry as myself (I mean with decency), or give me leave to
go back again, and resume my cares where 1 left them." To
whom Pampinea, as if she had disposed of hers in like manner,
; i : '• ^ oil say right, Sir. we wid he merry ; we fled
from our troubles for no other reason. But, as extremes are
likely to last, I who first proposed the means by which
such an agreeable set of company is now got together, and being
desirous to make our mirth of some continuance, find there
is a necessity for our appointing a principal, whom we should
honour and' obey in all things as our head ; whose province
it sh.,11 he to regulate our diversions. And that every one
may make trial of the burthen which attends care, as well as
the pleasure which there is in superiority, nor, therefore envy
what he hath not yet tried, I hold it best that every one should
experience both the trouble and the honour for one day. The
first to be elected by us all, and who on the approach of the
evening, shall name a person to succeed for the following
d.iv . who, during the time of their government, arc to give
concerning the place where, and the manner bow. we
are to live." These words gave a general satisfaction, and
they named her, with one consent, for the first day : whilst
Philomena, running to a laurel tree, as having often beard
how much that tree bad always been esteemed, ami what ho-
nour was conferred on those who were deservedly crowned with
it, made a garland, ami put it up< n in r head, whi h whilst the
company continued together, was hereafter to be the ensign of
sovereignty.

Pampinea, thus elected queen, enjoined silence, and having
summoned the gentlemen's servant . and their own women,
who were four in number, before her : " To give you the first
example," said she, " how. by proceeding from good to l>- tt r,
we may live orderly and pleasantly, and continue together,
without the least reproach, as long as we please : in the first

INTRODUCTION. 23

place I declare Parmeno, Dioneus's servant, master of rny
household, and to him I commit the care of my family, and
everything relating to my hall. Siriscus, Pamphilus's servant
I appoint my treasurer, and to be under the direction of Par-
meno ; and Tindarus I command to wait on Philostratus and
the other two gentlemen, whilst their servants are thus employ-
ed. Mysia, my woman, and Licisca, Philomena's, I order into
the kitchen, there to get ready what shall be provided by
Parmeno. To Chimera, Lauretta's, and Stratilia, Flammetta's,
I give the care of the ladies' chambers, and to keep the room
clean where we sit. And I will and command you all, on pain
of my displeaure, that wherever you go, or whatever you hear
and see, you bring no news here, but what is good." These
orders were appi'oved by them all, and she, rising from her
seat, with a good deal of gaiety, added, "Here are gardens
and meadows, where you may divert yourselves till three
o'clock, when I shall expect you back, that we may dine in the
cool of the day."

The company were now at liberty, and the gentlemen and
ladies took a pleasant walk in the garden, talking over a thou-
sand merry things by the way, and diverting themselves there,
by singing love-songs, and weaving garlands of flowers ; and
returned at the time ^pointed, when they found Parmeno busy
in the execution of his office : for in a saloon below was the
table set forth, covered with the neatest linen, with glasses re-
flecting a lustre like silver ; and having washed their hands,
by the queen's order, Parmeno desired them to sit down. The
dishes now were served up in the most elegant manner, and the
best wines brought in, the servants waiting all the time with
the most profound silence ; and, being well pleased with their
entertainment, they dined with all the facetiousness and mirth
imaginable. When dinner was over, as they could all dance,
and some both play and sing well, the queen ordered in the
musical instruments, and commanding Dioneus to take a lute,
and Flammetta a viol, they struck Up a dance, and the queen,
with the rest of the company, took an agreeable turn or two,
whilst the servants were sent to dinner ; and when the dance
was ended, they began to sing, and continued till the queen
thought it time to break up. Her permission being given,
the gentlemen retired to their chambers, remote from the ladies,
lodging rooms, and the ladies did the same, and undressed
themselves for bed.

It was no sooner nine, than the queen arose, and ordered
all to be called, alleging, that much sleep in the day-time was
unwholesome : and they went into a meadow of deep grass,
where the sun had little power ; and having the benefit of a
pleasant breeze, they sat down in a circle, as the queen had
commanded, who spoke in this manner : — " As the sun is high,
and the heat excessive, and nothing is to be heard but the

24 INTRODUCTION.

i hirping of the grasshoppers among the olives, it would lie
madness lor us t > think of moving yet ; this is an airy place,
and here arc chess-boards and gammon-tables to divert your-
selves with : but if you arc ruled by me, you will not play at
all, since it often makes one party uueasy, without any great
1 leasure to the other, <>r to the looker-on-, Liu let us begin
and tell stories, and in this manner one person will ent< rtain
the whole company ; and by the time it has gone round, the
• part of the day will be over, and then we can divert our-
selves as we like best. If this be agreeable to you, then, for
I wait to know your pleasure, let us begin ; it' not, you are at
your own disposal till the evening." This motion was approved
by all j whilst the queen continued, " Let every one lor this
fust day take what subject he fancies most :" and turning to
E'amphilus, who sat on her right hand, bade him begin; who,
in ready obedience to her commands, and being well heard,
spoke to this effect

25

THE DECAMERON.

THE FIBST DAY.

NOVEL I.

Chappelet imposes upon the priest by a sham confession, and dies ;
and, although a very wicked fellow, was afterwards reputed a
saint; and called St. Chappelet.

Ladies, It is most meet and right, that every thing we do
should be begun in the name of Him who is the maker of all
things. Therefore, as I am to entertain you first, I shall make
choice of a very extraordinary instance, which may direct us
to place all our hopes in him, as the only unchangeable being,
and evermore to praise him. Certain it is, that all earthly
things are transitory and mortal ; attended with great troubles,
and subject to infinite dangers, which we who live embroiled
with them, and are even part of them, could neither endure,
nor find a remedy for, were it not for the especial grace of God
that enables us ; which blessing we are not to expect through
our own merits, but his goodness, and the intercession of those
saints who, having been once mortal men like ourselves, and
done his will whilst on earth, now enjoy happiness and immor-
tality in heaven ; to whom, as to fit agents, informed of our frail-
ties by their own experience, and not daring, perhaps, immedi-
ately to address ourselves to so great a Judge, we offer up our
prayers for what we want. And we find his mercy the greater,

D

26 FIRST DAY.

as, not being able to jjry into the secretaol the divine will, we
may sometimes make choi< e of a mediator before him, who is
banished eternally from his presence : and yet he from whom
nothing is hidden, having regard to the purity of the suppli-
cant, rather than to hi^ ignorance, <>r the situation of the per-
b 'ii to whom be applies himself, hi ars those who pr:» % in this
manner, as if that person were reall) a saint: which will
plainly appear from the following story ; I mly

not considering the judgment of God, but that of n,an.

There lived in France a person whose name was Musciat;
who, from a wealthy merchant, became a courtier, and went
into Tuscany with Charles, surnamed Lackland, brother to
the King of France, who was instigated to that expedition
by Pope Boniface. This gentleman, finding hi* affairs con-
siderably perplexed, and lying, as is usual to per.-- ns in trade,
in abund nice of hands ; nor being able to right them himself,
without a good deal of time and trouble, resolved to entrust
them with several people ; and settled every thing to his mind
excepting some debts which were star/ding out from pi i
living in Burgundy. The reason was, he had found them to
he a set of perverse, ill-conditioned, rascally fellows, and he
could not for his life conceive, where a man might be met with
had enough to match them : after much thinking about it, he
at last called to mind one Ciapperello da Prato, who us
come much to his house at Paris ; and being a little j
matical fellow, the Trench, not knowing the meaning of his
true name, hut thinking him to have been called Cappello,
gave him the diminutive name of Ciappelletto, or Chappelet,
by which lie was generally known there.

Now the character of the man was this : Being by trade a
scrivener, he was really ashamed if any writings of his (he did
not draw many indeed) were found without some fault, or
flaw : and would do that sort of work for nothing with more
pleasure than a just thing that he was to he well paid for.

He was glad at all times of being a false witness, whether
required of him or not : ami as great regard was had
to an oath in France, he, who made no scruple to forswear
himself on every occasion, was sure of every cause that de-
pended on his single testimony. To foment quarrels and dis-
putes was his utmost pleasure, especially amongst friends i r
relations; and the more mischief he occasioned, the greater
was his satisfaction. W as a man to be dispat< hi d at anj tune ;
he was the person to uj . and would do it with his

own hands, ii • i a great blasphemer of God and his saints,
swearing and cursing on everj occj ion. lit went to church
at no time, but spoke always of the holy sacraments in the same
abominable terms, as be would do of the vilest things in the
world ; on the contrary, he was eternally at taverns, and places
of bail repute. 01 fond as a d ! :ck ;

NOVEL I. 27

but to unnatural vice, no wretch so abandoned as himself. He
would pilfer and steal with as much conscience as others give
to charity. He was a glutton and drunkard to the ruin of his
constitution. He was also a most notorious gamester ; mak-
ing use always of false dice. And, to sum up his character in
few words*, perhaps his equal in wickedness has not yet been
born. Yet, bad as he was, he had all along been screened by
the favour and interest of Musciat, as well from the resentment
of private persons, whom he had often injured, as from that
of the court, to which he gave daily provocation.

This man coming into Musciat's thoughts at last, who was
no stranger to every part of his life, he concluded him to be
such an one as the tempers of the people he had to deal with
required ; and sending for him, he addressed him thus :

" Master Chappelet, you know that I am about to leave this
country, and as I have affairs to settle with some people of
Burgundy, who are full of quirks and deceit, I do not know
any one that I can employ so fit to manage them as your-
self: you have a good deal of spare time, and if you will
undertake it, I will procure you recommendatory letters
from court, and allow you a reasonable part of what you reco-
ver."

Chappelet, who found himself much embarrassed in the world,
and likely to be more so when his great friend was gone, With-
out hesitating at all about it, answered that he was willing.
They agreed upon terms ; Musciat gave him a deputation, and
procuring him the letters he had promised, he set out for
Burgundy; where, being quite a stranger, he endeavoured,
contrary to his former manner, to do the business he came
about by fair means ; reserving a different behaviour to the
last. He lodged with two brothers, who were usurers ; and
they entertained him well on Musciat's account ; and falling
sick there, they had physicians to him, and servants to attend
him ; nor was any thing omitted that could be of service,
but all in vain ; for this worthy good man, who was advanced
in years, and had been also an irregular liver, grew worse and
worse in the judgment of the physicians ; so that he was
looked upon as a dead man ; at which the brothers were
greatly concerned. And one day being near the chamber
where he lay, they began to have some talk together about
it ; and one said to the other — ■

" What shall we do with this fellow ? We have a fine affair
upon our hands, by means of his wickedness. For to turn
him out in this condition would afford matter for reproach,
and also be a proof of our want of understanding; the people
seeing us receive him before into our house, and supply him
with physic, and all things necessary, and now send him out
whilst he is dying, without his having, been able to do any
thing that we ought to be offended at. And on the other hand,

26 FIRST DAY.

he has been such a vile fellow always, that he will never be
brought to confess, and to receive the sacraments of the church;
and should he die without them, no church will receive his
body ; but he must be put into the ground like a dog. Or
should he confer. Ins sins will appear so enormous, that the
like were never known : nor can any priest be found that will
give him absolution: and without that, he must still be
thrown into a ditch : and should this happen, the people of
this country, who think ours an iniquitous trade, ami arc-
daily reviling us, would be apt to raise a mutiny, and declare
publicly that they will no longer bear with these Lombards,
these extortioning villains, whom the church disdains to re-
ceive into her bosom ; and make that a pretence to plunder
us of all we are worth, and abuse our persons in the bargain ;
so that it will be bad for us on all sides, should this man die."'

Chappelet, whom we observed not to lie far off, heard all
this, as sick people are often quick of hearing, and calling them
to him he said :

" I would have you be in no doubts or fears of harm to
yourselves on my account. I have heard what you have been
talking about, and am confident the thing would happen as
you say, were every thing to be as you suppose ; but I will
take care that it shall happen otherwise : I have been guilty
of so much wickedness, in my life time, that to add one sin
at my death, will not make the sum much greater : therefore
send out for the most able and religious priest you know of,
if a religious one can be found, and I will take such care of
your affairs, as well as of my own, that you shall have reason
to be satisfied."

The brothers expected no great matters from this ; but went
however to a convent, and desired that some learned and holy
person would come, and take the confession of a Lombard,
who was sick in their house. Accordingly, a venerable old
friar, of great sanctity and learning, and much reverenced by
the whole city, was ordered to go with them ; who being come
into the room, and seated by the sick man's bed-side, began,
after some heavenly consolations, to inquire of him, how long
it was, since he had last confessed. To whom Chappelet, who
had never confessed in his whole life, answered :

" Holy father, it has been usual with me always to confess
once a week at least ; and sometimes oftener; but it is true,
since I have been sick, my affliction has been such, that 1 have
not confessed at all."

The friar replied : " Son, it is well, thus you should always
do ; ami I perceive, as you have confessed so often, that I shall
have but little trouble, either in hearing or asking you
questions."

" Good father, do not say so," cried Chappelet : "I have
never so often confessed, but that I w iuld always mention every

•tt (CJHLAPFEILET

m m.

NOVEL I. 29

sin that I could recollect from the hour I was born. There-
fore I beg you would examine me as particularly as if I had
never confessed at all ; and do not regard my languishing con-
dition ; for I had much rather do what may disoblige the flesh,
than, by consulting the ease of my body, bring damnation on
my soul, which my Saviour has purchased with his most pre-
cious blood."

The good old man was ravished with these expressions, es-
teeming them proofs of a well-disposed mind ; and having
commended his piety, he asked him whether he had ever of-
fended God by the knowledge of women. To whom Chappelet,
fetching a deep sigh, replied :

" I am ashamed to speak the truth, lest I should be thought
to offend by vain-glory."

" Speak out boldly," said the priest, " for there can be no
harm in telling truth, whether at confession or any other time."

" Since you make me easy in this," quoth Chappelet, " I
will speak out. I am as pure, in that respect, as when 1 first
came into the world."

" God bless my son," said the friar, " you have done well ;
and this is so much the more meritorious, as you have liberties
far beyond us, of doing otherwise :" and he added, " but were
you never given to gluttony ?"

Chappelet answered with a groan :

" Yes, very often ; for besides fasting in Lent, as all devout
persons do, I have accustomed myself to live three days in a
week at least, on bread and water ; and I have drunk the water
sometimes, especially if I have been fatigued with praying, or
performing a pilgrimage, with as much pleasure as drunkards
drink wine ; and sometimes T have wished for sallads, and
have eat my bread with more pleasure than a person ought,
who fasts out of devotion."

" My son," replied the friar, " these are very natural and tri-
vial crimes, and I would not have you burthen your conscience
more than is necessary : every one, be they ever so holy, eat
with a good appetite after fasting, and drink with pleasure
when they have been fatigued."

" Do not tell me these things to comfort me only," said Chap-
pelet, " you know I cannot be ignorant, that whatever relates
to the service of God, should be done sincerely, and with a
good will, otherwise we are guilty of sin."

" I am well satisfied," returned the friar, " in your being
of that opinion, and much approve the purity of your con
science : but tell me, have you not been guilty of the sin of
covetousness, desiring more than was fit, or detaining what was
not your due ?"

I would not have you think so," said Chappelet, " because
you see me in the house with these usurers : I havf no concern
with them, but came purely to persuade them to leave off
d 2

30 FIRST DAY.

that abominable vvay of living, and believe I might have pre-
vailed, had it not pleased God to visit me in this manner.
My father left me a plentiful fortune, and I immediately dis-
posed of the greater part of it to religious uses ; and betook
myself to trade for a maintenance, ami to have it in my power
to relieve tin- poor in Christ : I cannot say indeed that 1 have
not been desirous of gain ■ but I always gave half to the poor,
and kept the other part for my own necessary occasions ; and
God hath so far blessed me, that my affairs have always pros-
pered."

" You have done well," said the confessor ; " but have you
not been often transported with anger and passion ?"

" Very often truly !" answered the penitent, " hut who can
forbear, seeing the common degeneracy of mankind, who are
every day breaking the commandments of God, and are not kept
in awe by his judgments .' I could rather choose to lie out of
the world, *han to see youth run after vanity, swear and for-
swear, haunt taverns, neglect going to church, and follow the
ways of the world before those of God."

" My son," said the friar, " passion here is commendable ;
nor shall I enjoin you any penance for it : but have you been
transported by rage at no time, to murder, or use indecent ex-
pressions, or to do any other injury ?"

"Alas, Sir!" answered Chappelet, "how can you, who ap-
pear to be so good a man, mention any such thing ! Do you
believe, had I ever entertained such thoughts, that God would
hive suffered me to live ? These are the actions of robbers and
villains, whom I never look upon without offering up a prayer
to God for their conversion."

" God bless thee again, my dear child," said the good old
man, " but have you never borne false witness against, or spo-
ken ill of another, or taken away that from him which properly
belonged to him ?"

" Y'es, reverend father," answered he, " I must needs confess
I have spoken ill of another, for 1 had once a neighbour, who
used to beat his wife without cause ; and I gave him a bad
character to her parents j so much did I pity the poor woman,
who was always ill-treated by him, as often as he got drunk."'

" But," said the friar," you tell me you have been a mer-
chant did you never cheat any person, as is common for them
to do ?"

" Yes, in good truth, Sir," he replied, " but I know only of
one person, who, having brought the money for a piece of cloth
which I had sold him, I put it into a bag without counting it,
and at the month's end, when 1 came to tell it over, 1 found
four pence too much ; but as I was not able to find the owner
again, after keeping it a year, I gave it to the poor."

" This is a mere trifle," said the friar, " and you did well to
dispose of it in that manner."

NOVEL I. SI

He then put some other questions to him, which Chappelet
answered as he had done the rest ; and just as he was pro-
ceeding to absolution. Chappelet cried out,

" There is another thing hangs upon me, which I have not
confessed."

The priest inquired what that was ; and he answered,

" I remember once making my maid clean the house on a
holiday ; and I have not shewed that regard for the Lord's day
which I ought."

" Oh !" said the friar, "that is a small matter, my son.'

" Do not call it so, dear father," quoth the other, " Sunday
is a day much to be reverenced, being the day on which our
Lord rose from the dead."

" Then," said the priest, " is there any thing more ?"

" Yes," answered he, " I remember, once in my life, to have
spit in the house of God."

The friar smiled, and said, " My son, that is not to be re-
garded ; we ourselves spit there every day."

" And you are much to blame for it," returned he, " for no-
thing should be kept so clean as the temple of God, where we
offer sacrifice." In short, he told him many more things of that
kind, and at last, as he could weep when he pleased, he fell
groaning and sobbing, as though he would burst his very heart.

" Son, what is the matter ?" said the friar :

He answered, " Alas, sir ! there is one sin left behind, which
I could never endure to confess, the shame to mention it is so
great, and which, as often as I recollect, I lament in the man-
ner you now see ; uay, I am convinced that God will never
forgive it."

" Go, go, my son" quoth the friar, " what is that you say ? I
tell you, that if all the wickedness that ever was committed by
man, or can be committed whilst the world endures, was to be
amassed in one person, if that person was thoroughly penitent,
as I see you are, so great is God's mercy, that upon confession,
it would all be forgiven him ; tell me then what it is."

"Alas! father," said Chappelet, shedding abundance
of tears, " my sin is so heinous, that I despair altogether of
pardon, unless you assist me, and move God by your prayers."

" Speak out, then," said the friar, " and I promise to inter-
cede for you."

Chappelet yet kept weeping, and would say nothing ; the
priest exhorting him all the while to clear his conscience ; and
after he had held him some time in suspense, he fetched a deep
sigh, and said,

" Since you have promised to pray for me, I will disclose it :
you must know then, that when I was a child, I once cursed
my mother;" and here he began to lament afresh in a most
grievous manner.

" My good son," said the friar, " does this seem so great a

32 MUST DAY.

sin ? Men are cursing God every day, yet ho pardons them
upon repentance ; and do you think you shall never be for-
given ? Weep not ; but let this be your comfort, that though
you had even a hand in nailing Christ upon the cross, yet
would that sin be forgiven, on such a repentance as yours."

" What do you say .'" quoth Chappelet ; " what ! to curse
my dearest mother, who bore me day and night in her womb,
for nine months, and suckled me many hundreds of times at
her breast! No, the sin is so great, that I must inevitably
perish, unless your prayers prevent it."

The friar rinding he had no more to say, absolved and gave
him his benediction ; and, supposing that lie spoke truth all the
while, thought him the most pious man living. And, indeed,
who could think otherwise, having it ajl from a dying man ?
He afterwards said to him, " Monsieur Chappelet, by God's
assistance you will soon recover ; but if it should please the
Almighty to take your blessvd and well-disposed soul unto
himself, will you give leave for your body to be buried in our
convent ?"

" I would have it laid no where else," answered he, " both
because you have promised to pray for me, and as I have
always had a great regard for your order ; therefore, when
you go home I beg you would take care that the real body of
our Lord, which was consecrated at your altar this morning,
may be brought me ; for, unworthy aa I am, I intend, with
your leave, to receive it, and after that extreme unction ; so
that though I have been a great sinner all my life, I may die
at least like a Christian."

The holy man was much pleased, and told him that he said
well, and promised that it should be brought that day ; and
60 it was.

" The brothers being a little suspicious that he intended to
impose upon them, had posted themselves behind a partition
of the room, where they heard all that passed ; insomuch that
they could scarcely refrain from laughing; and said one to the
other —

" What a strange fellow this is! whom neither age, sickness,
fear of death, which is at hand, nor of God, at whose tribunal
he must shortly appear, are sufficient to deter from his wicked
courses, or to prevent his dying as he has always lived !" But
as he had obtained burial in the church by that means, they
cared no farther. He then received the sacrament, and grow-
ing worse and worse, had extreme unction, and died the even-
ing that he hail made this extraordinary confession. The bro-
thers took immediate care that he should be honourably inter-
red, and sent forthwith to the convent to desire they would
come, as was usual, and perform vigils and matins for the de-
ceased : and the pru -s,t. to whom he had confessed, went upon
this notice to the prior, and had a chapter called, when he

NOVEL I. 33

informed them how holy a person Chappelet was, as he could
easily perceive by his confession : and hoping that God would
work many miracles by him, he persuaded them to receive his
body with all due reverence and devotion ; to which the prior,
and the credulous brotherhood all consented, and that night
they came in a body to the place where the corpse lay, and
sung the great and solemn vigils ; and in the morning they
all went in their hoods and surplices, with books in their
hands, and the cross carried before them for the body, singing
all the way ; and they brought it with the utmost solemnity
to their church, being followed by the whole city : and having
set it down there, the good confessor mounted the pulpit, and
told them wonderful things concerning his life, fastings, th is-
tity, simplicity, innocence, and sanctity ; speaking more par-
ticularly of that great crime, which he had confessed with so
much concern, as scarcely to be persuaded that God would for-
give him. And from thence he took occasion to reprimand his
audience in this manner : " Yet you, wicked as you are, make
no scruple to curse God, the holy mother of God, and all the
host of heaven, for the least trifle." He flourished much con-
cerning his truth and purity ; and worked so far upon them
by his discourse, to which all yielded an implicit faith, that
when the service was ended, they pressed forward to kiss the
deceased's hands and feet ; and the funeral clothes were im-
mediately rent to pieces, every one thinking himself happy
who could get a single rag. All that day he was kept, so
that every one might* see and visit him ; and at night most
honourably interred in a marble sepulchre : and on the fol-
lowing day, was a great procession of devout persons, to wor-
ship at his shrine with lighted tapers, and to offer the waxen
images which they had vowed. And such was the fame of his
sanctity, and the people's devotion towards him, that nobody
in time of trouble would apply themselves to any other saint
but him, calling him St. Chappelet, and affirming, that God
had wrought many miracles by him, and still continued to
work for such as recomended themselves devoutly to him.

Thus lived and died master Ciapperello da Prato, and be-
came a saint as you have heard, of whom I will not say but he
may be happy ; for though his whole life could not be worse,
it is not impossible, but, before the hour of his death, he might
be such a penitent, that God should have mercy on him, and
receive him into his kingdom. But as this we know nothing
of, we have much more reason, from what appears, to conclude
that he is more likely in the hands of the devil in purgatory,
than amongst the angels in Paradise. And if it be so, great
is God's mercy towards us ; who, not regarding our errors,
but the purity of our intention, whenever we make choice of
an improper mediator, hears us as well as if we had applied
ourselves to one truly a saint. And therefore, that his grace may

34 FIRST DAY.

preserve us in our present calamity, and in this cheerful and
agreeable society, let us praise his name, as we firs; began ;
recommending ourselves to him in time of need, with a full
assurance of being always heard.

35

THE FIBST DAY.

NOVEL II.

Abraham the Jew, at the instigation of Jeannot de CJiivigni, goes
to the court of Rome, and seeing the wickedness of the clergy
there, returns to Paris, and becomes a Christian.

Some parts of Pamphilus's story made them laugh heartily ;
and the whole was much commended by the ladies, who had
been very attentive ; and, as it was now ended, the queen or-
dered Neiphile, in the next seat to her, to go on in the method
she had prescribed, who, being as affable in behaviour, as her
person was beautiful, very cheerfully answered that she was
willing, and began in this manner : — ■

Pamphilus has shewed us, in his novel, the great goodness
of God in not regarding any errors of ours, which proceed
from the blindness and imperfection of our nature. And I
intend to set forth in mine, how the same goodness of God
(by bearing with the vices of those persons, who, though obli-
ged to give testimony both in their words and actions con-
cerning it, yet do the reverse) displays itself in the most plain
and evident manner ; whence we may be taught more steadily
to persevere in what we believe.

At Paris there lived, as I have been told, a great merchant,
and a worthy person, called Jeannot de Chivigni, a dealer iti
silk, and an intimate friend to a certain rich Jew, whose name
was Abraham, a merchant also, and a very honest man ; and
Jeannot, being no stranger to his good and upright intentions,
was greatly troubled that the soul of so wise and well-meaning a
person should perish through his unbelief. He began, there-
fore in the most friendly manner, to entreat him to renounce the
errors of Jewdaism, and embrace the truth of Christianity, which

36 FIRST DAY.

he might plainly sec, as the most vise and holy institution,
daily to gain ground, and flourish more and more, whereas their

religion was dwindling to nothing. The Jew answered, that
he esteemed no religion like his own ; that he was born in
it, and in it he intended to live and die ; nor could any thing
make hi;n alter his resolution. Notwithstanding this, Jeannot
began, in a tew days, with the same arguments over again, set-
ting forth, in as awkward a manner as a merchant must he sup
posed to do, for what reasons our religion ought to be prefer-
red : and though the Jew was well read in their law. yet. whe-
ther it was his regard to the man, or that Jeannot had (In-
spirit of God upon his tongue, he began to be greatly pleased
with his arguments but continued obstinate, nevertheless, in
his opinion, nor would sutler himself to be converted. Jeannot
continued his most earnest solicitations, insomuch that the .lew,
overcome at last by them, said : " I perceive, Jeannot,
you are very desirous I should become a Christian : I am
willing to do as you would have me, but first I have a mind to
go to Rome, to see him whom you call God's vicar on earth,
and to consider his ways a little, and those of his brother cardi-
nals ; and if they appear in such a light to me that I may li-
able to comprehend by them, and by what you have said, that
your religion is better than mine, as you would persuade me,
I will then do as I said ; otherwise I will continue a Jew as I
am." When Jeannot heard this he was much troubled, and
said to himself: " I have lost all my labour, which I thought
well-bestowed, expecting to have converted this man ; for
should he go to Rome, and see the wickedness of the clergy
there, so far from turning Christian, were he a Christian, he
would certainly become a Jew." Then applying himself to
Abraham, he said : " Alas, my friend, why should you be at
the great trouble and expense of such a journey ? Not to men-
tion the dangers, both by sea and land, to which so rich a per-
son as yourself must be exposed, do you think to find nobody
here that can baptize you ? Or if you have any doubts or
scruples, where will you meet with more able persons than are
here, to clear them up for you, and to answer such questions
as you shall put to them ? You may suppose the prelates to be
like what you see in France ; but more perfect indeed, as
they are nearer to the principal pastor. Then let me advise
you to save this journey against another time, when you
may want some pardon or indulgence, and probably then I
may bear you company."

The Jew answered, " 1 believe it is as you say ; but to
make short of the matter, 1 am fully resolved, if you would
have me to do what you have so much solicited, to go thither ;
else I will in no wise comply." Jeannot seeing him determin-
ed, said, " God be with you !" and, supposing that he would
never be a Christian after he had seen Rome, gave bun over

NOVEL II. 37

for lost. The Jew took horse, and made the hest of his way
to Rome, where he was most honourably received by his bre-
thren, the Jews ; and. without saying a word what he was come
about, he began to inspect narrowly into the manner of living
of the pope, the cardinals, and other prelates, and of the whole
court ; and, from what he himself perceived, being a person
quick of sight, and as he was informed by others, he found
that, from the highest to the lowest, they were given to all sorts
of lewdness, without the least shame or remorse ; so that the
only way to obtain any thing considerable was, by applying to
prostitutes of every description. He observed, also, that thev
were generally drunkards and gluttons, and, like brutes, mere
solicitous about their bellies than any thing else. Inquiring
farther, he found them all such lovers of money, that they
would not only buy and sell man's blood in general, but even
the blood of Christians, and sacred things, of what kind soever,
whether benefices, or pertaining to the altar : and they drove
as great a trade of this, as there is in selling cloth and other
commodities at Paris : that to palpable simony they had given
the plausible name of procuration, and debaucheries, they call-
ed supporting the body ; as if God had been unacquainted
with their wicked intentions, and like men, was to be im-
posed upon by the names of things. These and other things
which I shall pass over, gave great offence to^ the Jew, who
was a sober and modest person ; and now thinking he had seen
enough, he returned home.

As soon as Jeannot heard of his arrival, he went to see him,
thinking of nothing so little as his conversion ; and they
received one another with a great deal of pleasure : and in a
day or two after he had recovered from his fatigue, Jean-
not began to inquire of him what he thought of the holy father,
the cardinals, and the rest of the court ? To whom the Jew im-
mediately answered : " To me it seems as if God was much
kinder to them than they deserve ; for, if I may be allowed to
judge, I must be bold to tell you, that I have neither seen
sanctity, devotion, or any thing good in the clergy of Rome,
but, on the contrary, luxury, avarice, gluttony, and worse than
these, if worse things can be, are so much in fashion with all
sorts of people, that I should rather esteem the court of Rome
to be a forge, if you allow the expression, for diabolical oper-
ations than things divine ; and for what I can perceive, your
pastor, and, consequently the rest, strive with their whole
might and skill to overthrow the Christian religion, and to
drive it from off the face of the earth, even where they ought
to be its chief succour and support. But as I do not see this
come to pass, which they so earnestly aim at ; on the contrary
that your religion gains strength, and becomes every day
more glorious ; I plainly perceive the Spirit of God to be the
protector of it, as the most true and holy of all others. For

E

38 FIRST DAY.

which reason, though I continued obstinate to your exhor-
tations, nor would suffer myself to be converted by them, now
I declare to you, that I will no longer defer being made a
christian. Let us go then to the church, and do you take
care that I be baptized according to the manner of your holy
faith." Jcannot, who expected quite a different conclusion,
was the most overjoyed man that could be ; and taking him
to our Lady's church at Paris, he requested the priests there
to baptize Abraham ; and they, finding that it was his desire,
immediately performed it ; Jeannot being his sponsor, gave
him the name of John. He afterwards took care to have him
well instructed in our faith, in which he made a speedy pro-
ficiency, and became, in time, a great and good man.

59

THE FIRST DAY.

NOVEL III.

Melchizedeck, a Jew, by a story of the three rings, escapes
most dangerous snare, which Saladin had prepared for him.

This novel was universally applauded, when Philomena
thus began : —

Neiphile's story puts me in mind of what happened to a
certain Jew ; for as enough has been said concerning God and
the truth of our religion, it will not be amiss if we descend
to the actions of men. I proceed, therefore, to the relation
of a thing, which may make you more cautious for the time
to come, in answering questions that shall be put to you. For
you must know, that, as a man' s folly often brings him down
from the most exalted state of life to the greatest misery, so
shall his good sense secure him in the midst of the utmost
danger, and procure him a safe and honourable repose. There
are many instances of people being reduced by their foolish-
ness, which 1 choose to omit, as they happen daily ; but what
great cause for comfort, a person's good understanding may at
some times afford, I shall make appear, as I promised, in the
following short novel.

Saladin was so brave and great a man, that he had raised
himself from an inconsiderable person, to be Sultan of Babylon,
and had gained many victories over both the Turkish and
Christian princes. This monarch having in divers wars, and
by many extraordinary expenses, run through all his treasure,
some urgent occasion fell out, that he wanted a large sum of
money. Not knowing which way he might raise enough to
answer his necessities, he at last called to mind a rich Jew
of Alexandria, named Melchizedeck, who let out money to

40 i IRST DAY.

interest. Dim fa erewithal to serve him j

but then he was so covetousi that he would never do it will-
ingly, and he was unwilling to force him. But as nee
has no law, after much thinking which way the matter might
best be effected, he at last resolved to use force under some
colour of reason. lie therefore sent for, and received him in
a most gracious manner, and making him sit down, he thus

addressed him : " Honest man, I hear from divers persons that
thou art very wise, and knowing in religious matters ; where-
fore I would gladly know from thee which religion thou ju
to be the true one, vi/. the Jewish, the Mahometan, or the
Christian .'" '1 he Jew (truly a wise man) found that Saladin
had a mind to trap him ; and perceiving that he must gain his
point should he prefer any one religion, after considering a lit-
tle how best to avoid the snare, his invention at last supplied
him with the following answer. " The question which your
Highness has proposed is \ery curious; and, that 1 may give
you ii. v BentimentS, I must beg leave to tell ;; Bhorl

" I remember often to have heard of a great and rich man,
who, among his most rare and precious jewels, had a ring of
exceeding great beauty and value ; and being proud of pi ^~
sessinga thing of such worth, and desirous that it should con-
tinue for ever in his family, he declared, by will, that to which-
soever of his sons he should give this ring, him he desi
for his heir, and that he should be respected as the head of the
family. That son to whom the ring was given, made the
Suine law with respect to his descendants, and the ring passed
from one to another in a long succession, till it came to a per-
son who had three sons, all virtuous and dutiful to their father,
and all equally beloved by him. And the young men know-
ing what depended upon the ring, and ambitious of supei iority,
began to entreat their father, who was now growing old, i
one for himself that he would give the ring to him. The
man, equally fond of all, was at a loss which to ] refer ; and as
he had promised all, ami being willing to satisfy all, privatel)
got an artist to make two others, which were so like the first,
that he himself scarcely knew the true one ; and at his
death gave one privately to each of his son<. They afterwards
all claimed the honour ami estate, each disputing them with
his brothers, and producing his ring ; and the rings were found
so much alike, that the true one could not be distinguished.
To law then they went, which should succeed, nor is that yet
[decided. And thus it has happened, my lord, with regard to
the three laws given by God the Fath< r, concerning which you
."proposed your question : everyone believes he is the true heir
vf God, has his law, and obeys his commandments ; but which
:is in the right is uncertain in like manner as of the rings."

Saladin perceived that he had escaped the net which was
spread for him : he therefore resolved to discover his necessity

NOVEL III. 41

to him, to see if he would lend him money, telling him at the
same time what he designed to have done, had not his dis-
creet answer prevented him. The Jew freely supplied him with
what he wanted, Saladin afterwards paid him with a great deal
of honour, made him large presents, besides maintaining him
nobly at his court, and was his friend as long as he lived.

42

THE FISST DAY.

NOVEL IV.

A monk having committed an offence, fur which he ought to have
been severely punished, saves himself by wittily proving his

abbot guilty of (he very same fault.

Thus ended Philomena, when Dioneus, who sat next to her,
(without waiting the queen's order, as knowing that he was
to follow in course), spoke as follows :

If I understand you right, ladies, we are assembled here to
amuse ourselves by telling stories : whilst nothing, then, is
done contrary to this intention, I suppose everyone lias liberty
to relate what he thinks will be most entertaining : therefore,
having heard bow, by the pious admonitions of Jeannot de
Chivigni, Abraham the Jew was advised to his soul's salvation ;
and also how Melchizedeck, by his good sense, saved his wealth
from the designs of Saladin ; I shall, without fear of reproof,
shew, in few words, how cunningly a monk saved his bones
from the punishment intended him.

There was once, in the territories of Lunigiana, a monastery
better stored both with monks and religion than many are uow-
a-days, to which b ilonge I a young monk, whose constitution
neither tasting nor praying could humble. Now it happened
one day, early in the morning, whilst his brethren were all
asleep, that, taking a walk about their church, which stood in
a lonesome place, he cast his eve upon a tanner's daughter, who
was gathering herbs, and immediately felt a strong temptation,
ill suiting with his profession ; and drawing near, he entered
into dis ourse with her, and prevailed upon her to go to his
cell with him, before any body was stirring abroad to see them ;
where, whilst they were diverting themselves together, it hap-
pened that the abbot, being just awake, and passing by the
door, thought he heard something of a noise within ; and lay-

NOVEL IV. 4S

ing his ear to listen, could distinguish a woman's voice.
At first he was inclined to make him open the door, hut he
afterwards thought of a difFerent method, and returned to his
chamber to wait till he came out. The monk, though he was
pleased with his companion, could not help being a little sus-.
picious of a discovery, and imagining that he heard somebody
treading at the door, he peeped through a crevice, and saw the
abbot standing to listen ; and knowing that he was detected,
and should be soundly punished, he became very uneasy. Yet,
without shewing any thing of it to the girl, he was contriving
how to get clear of the affair ; and he hit on a stratagem which
succeeded to his heart's desire. Pretending that he could stay
no longer — " I must go," he cried, " and will contrive a way
to get you off without being seen ; lie still, then, till I return."
He now locked the door after him, and carried the key to the
abbot, as is usual when they stir out of the monastery, and put-
ting a good face on the matter, he said — " Reverend father,
I could not get all my wood home this morning, and if you
please I will go now and fetch the remainder." The abbot,
willing to make a more perfect discovery, took the key, and
gave leave. No sooner was the other departed, but he began
to consider what he had best do in this case ; whether to open
the door in presence of all the monks, that so, the offence be-
ing known to all, they could have no room to murmur when
he proceeded to punishment ; or, whether he should not rather
inquire of the damsel herself, how she had been brought thi-
ther. Supposing, also, that she might be a person's daughter
whom he would not have disgraced in that public manner, he
thought it best to see who she was first, and then come to
some resolution. So stepping privately to the chamber, he
went in, and locked the door after him. The girl, on seeing
him, was in great confusion, and fell a weeping ; whilst our
abbot, finding her to be young and handsome, was seized
(old as he was) with the same desires as the young monk had
been, and began to reason thus with himself: " Why should
I not take a little pleasure when I may have it? for plague
and trouble I know enough every clay. She is handsome,
and nobody can ever know it. If I can persuade her, I see
no reason why I should not. Such another offer may never
fall in my way, and I hold it best to take it whilst I can have
it." Upon this, his purpose of going thither being quite
changed, he went nearer, and began to comfort her, desiring
her not to weep ; and making some farther advances, ac-
quainted her, at last, with his intention ; and she, who was
made neither of flint nor steel, easily complied. The monk,
who, under pretence of going to the wood, had concealed him-
self in the dormitory ; on seeing the abbot go alone to his
chamber, promised himself success ; but when he saw him
lock the door, he thought it past all doubt ; and coining from

41 FIRST DAY. '

the place where he lay hid, he heard and saw through a gra-
ting in the door all that passed between them. The abbot,

after he had stayed some time, locked the door again, and
returned to his chamber; and supposing the monk to Ik- now
come from the wood, he resolved to reprimand and imprison
him, that so the qdrl might remain solely to himself; and
causing him to 1 e sent for, he gave him a Bevere rebuke, and
ordered him to prison. Tin- monk answered, very readily, —
"Good Sir, F have not been so long of the Bi nedictine order,
to he acquainted with all the particularities thereto belong-
ing; your reverence instructed me well in the observance of
fasts and vigils ; hut you never told me how I was to behave
with repard to women. But, as you have so lately set me an
example, I promise if you will forgive me, to follow it, and
to do hereafter as I have seen you." The abbot being quick
of apprehension, found the monk knew more than he expected,
and being ashamed to punish him for a crime of which him-
self was known to he guilty, he pardoned him ; and enjoin-
ing his silence, they had the girl conveyed privately out of the
monastery, whither she was afterwards often said to return.

4:.

THE FIRST DAY

NOVEL V.

The Marchioness of Monferrat, by an entertainment of hens, and
some witty speeches, cures the King of France of his dis-
honourable love.

Dioneus's story had put all the ladies to the hlush, at the very
beginning ; and they locked at each other with a sort of smile
all the time it lasted ; giving him to know, by a gentle repri-
mand, that such sort of tales should not be told among women.
The queen then pointed to Flammetta, who sat next, to take
her turn, who most cheerfully began in this manner :

It is no little joy to me, to find the force of smart and witty
replies so well set forth in what is already passed among us.
And, as it is accounted a mark of good sense in men, to aim
at ladies of superior quality to themselves ; so is it no less a
token of the greatest discretion in women, to take care never to
be surprised in love by men of higher degree. For which rea-
son I shall now relate, how a woman by her wit and address
may ward off an attack of that kind, when there is a design
upon her honour.

The Marquis of Monferrat was a person of great va-
lour, and being standard-bearer to the church, was gone in
a general crusade of the Christian princes against the Turks.
And one day as they were discoursing of his prowess at
the court of Philip, surnamed the Short-sighted, who was
preparing in France for the like expedition, a courtier said,
in the presence of the king, that the whole world had not
so accomplished a pair as the marquis and his lady ; for as
much as he excelled other cavaliers in valour, so much was
she superior to the rest of her sex in worth and beauty. These
words so affected the king, that from that very moment, though
he had never seen her, he began to be passionately in love.

46 . FIRST DAY.

And he resolved to go by land as far as Genoa, that he
might have an honourable pretence for paying- her a visit,
thinking that, as the marquis was absent, he could not fail
of accomplishing his desires. With this design, having
sent the greatest part of his company before, he set forward
with a small retinue, and being come within a day's journey
of the place, he sent her word, that on the morrow she might
expect his company at dinner. The lady very cheerfully
replied, that she should esteem it a singular favour, and would
make him heartily welcome.

A long while she could not conceive why so great a prince
should come to see her, when her husband was from home ;
but supposing at last that the fame of her beauty must
have drawn him thither, she resolved nevertheless, as she
was of a noble spirit, to shew him due respect : for which pur-
pose she summoned the principal gentry, who were left in
the country, to consult them about what was necessary for
his reception, reserving the entire management of the feast to
herself. And buying all the hens that were in the country,
she ordered the cooks to get nothing else for his majesty's
dinner, but to dress them all the different ways possible.

Next day the king came, and was received by the lady
with great joy, and had all due honour paid him ; and finding
her even exceed what had been said before in her favour,
he was greatly astonished ; he then retired awhile into the
apartments, which were provided for him, to repose himself ;
and when dinner was ready his majesty and the lady sat down
at one table, and their attendants at other tables, all placed
according to their respective qualities.

Here the king was served with dishes one after another,
and with the most costly wines, feasting his eyes yet more with
the sight of the lady, and was extremely pleased with his enter-
tainment. But observing at last that all the different
courses, however tossed up and variously cookeil, were nothing
but hens, he began to wonder ; and though he knew that the
country about was well stored with venison and wild-fowl, and
he had signified his intention time enough for them to have
provided both, yet, being unwilling, how great soever his sur-
prise might he, to mention any thing but concerning the hens,
turning a merry countenance to the lady, he said, " .Madam,
are only hens bred in this country, and no cocks?"

The lady, who well understood the meaning of his question,
now thinking that she had a tit opportunity of letting him
know her sentiments, boldly answered : " Not so, my Lord ;
but women, however they may differ in dress and titles, are the
same here as in other places."

The king hearing this, immediately found out the meaning
of the entertainment ; as also what virtue lay couched under
her answer. And being sensible that words would be spent in

NOVEL • 47

vain on such a lady, and force he could not use ; he therefore
judged it more becoming his honour to stifle his ill-conceived
passion ; and so without more words, (as being afraid of the
lady's replies,) when dinner was over, that he might shadow his
dishonourable coming by a hasty departure, he thanked herlbr
the honour he had received, took his leave, and posted away to
Genoa.

48

THE FIRST DAY.

NOVEL VI.

A plain honest man, by a jest accidentally let fall, very wittily re-
j ro es the hypocrisy of the clergy.

Emilia whose turn came next, (the genteel reproof given
by the marchioness to the king of France being approved
by the whole assembly,) began in this manner;—

" Nor will I conceal a most severe expression made use of by
an honest simple man to a most sordid and avaricious monk,
which you will both commend and laugh at.

There was, not long since, in our city, a friar belonging to the
Inquisition, who though he laboured much to appear righteous
ami zealous for the Christian faith, yet was he a much bet-
ter inquisitor after such as had full purses, than those who
held heterodox opinions. By which great care of his, he soon
found out a person better stored with money than souse.

This man, not so much out of profaneness, as want of
thought, and perhaps overheated with liquor in the bargain,
unluckily said to one of his companions, that he had better
wine than Chiist himself had evei drunk : which being re] orted
to the inquisitor, and he understanding that the man's estate
was la | e. and that he was fall of money, sent all his myr-
midons, had him seized, and commenced a process, not so
much with a design of amending him in matters of faith, as to
ease him of part of his money, as he soon did.

The man being brought before him, he inquired whether it
was true what had been alleged against him; and the poor
man immediately answered, that it was. and told him in what
manner the w< rds were spoken. To whom the most holy
inquisitor (devoted to St. John with tin- golden heard) replied
" What ! dost thou make Christ a drunkard, and curious in the

NOVEL VI. 49

choice of wines, like your common sots and frequenters of ta-
verns ? and now wouldst thou excuse it as a small matter ? And
so it may seem to thee ; but I tell thee, should I proceed with
the rigour of justice, thou wouldst be burnt alive for it."
With these and such-like words, as if he had to do with a
down-right atheist, he so terrified the poor wretch, that he
was forced to have recourse to a little of St. John's golden
grease (a most sovereign remedy against the pestilential
avarice of the clergy, especially of the lesser friars, who are
forbidden the use of money, although it be not mentioned by
Galen in his book of medicines), with which he anointed
his hands to such purpose, that the fire and faggot, with which
he had been threatened, were changed into a cross ; which,
being yellow and black, seemed like a banner designed for
•the holy land. The money being paid, he was to stay there
for some time, being ordered, by way of penance, to hear mass
of the holy cross every morning, to visit him also at dinner-
time, and to do nothing the rest of the day but what he com-
.manded ; all which he performed punctually : and one morn-
ing it happened, that, during mass, the gospel was read,
wherein were these words :

" You shall receive a hundred for one, and so possess eternal
life ;" which he kept thoroughly in his mind, and being come,
at dinner-time, the inquisitor asked him, whether he had
heard mass that morning. "Yes, Sir, " replied the man very
readily. " Hast thou heard anything therein, " quoth the in-
quisitor, " wherein thou art doubtful, or desirous to ask any
questions ?" — " No, surely, " said the honest man, "and be-
lieve all that I have heard most steadfastly ; only one thing, I
remember, which occasions great pity in me for you and the
rest of your brethren, as to what will become of you in the
other world." — "And what are those words," replied
the other, " which makes you pity us so much ?" — "O, good
Sir, said the man, " do you remember the words of the
gospel ? 'You shall receive a hundred for one V" — "Well, what
of them," quoth the inquisitor. " I will tell you, Sir, " con-
tinued he : " Ever since I have been here, have I seen some-
times one, and sometimes two great cauldrons of broth,
given out of your great abundance every day to the poor, after
you and your brethren have been sufficiently regaled : and
now, if for every one of these you are to receive a hundred, you
will all of you be drowned in broth !" This set the whole
table a laughing, and the inquisitor was quite confounded,
knowing it to be a satire upon their great hypocrisy ; and were
it not that he had been much blamed for his former prosecu-
tion, he would have given him more trouble : he ordered
him, therefore, in a rage, to go about his business, and to
come near him no more.

F

50

THE FIEST DAY.

NOVEL VII.

r „

Bergamino, by telling a talc of a certain witty person named
Primasso, very handsomely reproves the avarice which had lately
appeared in M. Cane della Scala.

The pleasantness of Emilia, and hei agreeable story made
them all laugh heartily, and they commended the contrivance
of the cross. After which Philostratus, who was to speak
next began : — It is a commendable thing, most worthy ladies,
to hit a fixed mark ; but more so, to see a thing suddenly ap-
pearing, as suddenly hit by an archer. The scandalous and
most wicked lives of the clergy, furnish matter enough for re-
proach and raillery, to such as are so disposed, without much
thinking upon the matter : and therefore, though the honest
man did well in touching master inquisitor, by aiming at the
hypocritical charity of the friars, who gave that to the poor
which they would otherwise either throw away, or give to the
ho^s ; yet is he more to be commended, of whom (the last story
leading me to it) I am going to speak, who reproved M. Cane
della Scala, a most magnificent person heretofore, of a sudden
and unusual kind of avarice, which had lately appeared in
him, figuring by other persons in a pretty novel, that which he
intended to say concerning themselves, and which was as
follows : M. Cane della Scala was known all over the world, as
well for the wealth with which fortune had blessed him, as
for his being one of the greatest and most magnificent lords
that had Li vedin* Italy since the daysof the Emperor Frederic II.
This person had determined to make a most sumptuous feast
at Verona, to which people began to flock from all parts,
those especially of the best fashion ; when on a sudden, what-
ever was the cause, he altered his mind, and making such
as came some little amends for their trouble, he Bent them

NOVEL VII. 51

away. One person only remained unsatisfied, whose name
was Bergamino, of incredible wit and parts, who was still
in hopes that things would at length turn out to his advantage.
But M. Cane della Scalla (having been made to understand,
that whatever was given to him was entirely thrown away)
neither spoke to, nor took the least notice of him. Bergamino
waited some days, and perceiving that no account was
made of him, and, finding his stock grew low with the expense
of horses and servants at the inn, he became melancholy, yet
resolved to wait longer, as not thinking it right to depart :
and having brought three costly suits with him, which had
been given him by other lords, for his more splendid appear-
ance at this feast ; the landlord beginning to grow importu-
nate, he first pawned one, and staying a little longer, a second,
and he had now begun to live upon the credit of the last, re-
solving, when that was spent, to go away. In the mean time
it happened that he met with M. Cane della Scala at dinner,
where he presented himself before him with a sorrowful
countenance ; which the other observing, out of mockery ra-
ther than to take any delight in what should come from
him, he said : " How farest thou, Bergamino ? Thou seemest
melancholy ; what is the reason ?" Bergamino, without any pre-
meditation, yet, as if he had thought long upon the matter,
made a proper reply in the following story ; —

" You must understand, Sir, that Primasso was a person
well skilled in grammar, as well as a good and ready poet, by
which means he became so famous, that though his person
wras not universally known, his fame and character were in
every one's mouth.

Now it came to pass,that being once at Paris in a poor
condition, as his virtue met with no better fortune, being
little encouraged by such as were the most able, he heard
much talk of the abbot of Cligni, who, next to the pope, was
reputed to be the richest prelate of the church : of him it
was said, that he always kept a most grand and hospitable
court, and all were entertained freely that came thither, pro-
vided it was whilst the abbot was at dinner. Primasso hear-
ing this, and being desirous of seeing great and worthy per-
sons, resolved to be a witness of the magnificence of this abbot.
He inquired, therefore, how far he dwelt from Paris. Being
answered, about six miles, he supposed that, if he set out early
in the morning, he should be able to reach thither by dinner.
Accordingly he asked the way ; and having nobody to keep
him company, lest he should mistake the road, and so come to
a place where no victuals could be had, he took three loaves
with him, depending upon finding water enough, for a little
served him, wherever he went. The loaves he put in his bo-
som, and he nicked his time so well, that he arrived at the
abbot's, exactly at the hour of dining ; and entering into the

52 FIRST DAY.

great hall, and beholding the number of tables which were
laid forth, and the vast preparations making in the kitchens,

and every thing ready for dinner, he said to him -

self, 'This man is truly as generous as he has been always re-
ported.' Whilst he was considering these things attentively,
the steward of the household, ordered water to be brought,

and they washed their hands, and s it down every one at his
respective table. Now it happened that Primasso was placed
facing the door where the a'. hot was to make his entrance.
It was the custom in this court, that neither wine, bread,
nor any manner of food whatever, should be served to any
of the tahles, till the lord abbot himself was Beated : where-
upon the steward, having all things in readiness, acquainted
his lord, that nothing now was wanting hut his reverence.
The ahbot ordered the door to he thrown open ; and, as he was
entering the hall, the first person he chanced to cast hie
upon, was Primasso ; who being a stranger, as to his p
and hut meanly apparelled, an ungenerous, ;:s well as an
unusual thought came into his mind. ' Behold,' said he, to
himself, ' to whom I give my substance to be consumed !' And
turning back, he ordered the door to be shut again, and in-
quired of the people within, whether they could give any ac-
count of that poor fellow, that sat over against the door :
they all answered that they could not. Primasso, who had
a kind of traveller's appetite, and had not been used to fast so
long, seeing the abbot did not yet come, took one of the loaves
out of his bosom, and began to devour it. The abbot, after he
had waited a considerable time, sent one of his servants to see
whether the fellow was gone ; the servant brought word that
he stayed, and was eating bread, which he seemed to have
brought with him. ' Let him eat of his own, ' replied the ah-
bot, 'if he has it, for he shall taste none of mine to day. '
Gladly would the abbot have had him gone away of himself,
for he did not think it right to dismiss him. Primasso had
now finished one loaf, and finding the abbot did not yet
come, he began with the second, which was again report-
ed to his lordship, who had sent to inquire as before. At
length, the abbot not coming, and Primasso having eaten up
his second loaf, now attacked the third. When this news
was carried to the abbot he began to consider with himself
in this manner: 'What strange fancy has possessed me to-
day? What means this avarice, this scorn that I now shew '(
And who is it that I thus disdain ? 1'or many years have 1 en-
tertained all that would come, gentle or simple, poor or rich,
and, as it has sometimes happened, the most paltry fellows
imaginable ; yet never before did I grudge it to any, as I now
do to this person: surely avarice should have no influence over
me in the case of a poor man. For aught I know, he may be
a most extraordinary person, mean us he appears, ami how un-

NOVEL VI T 53

willing soever I have hitherto heen to shew him respect.'
Having argued thus with himself, he would needs know
who he was, and finding him to be Primasso, who was come
only to behold his grandeur ; and knowing him to be a
learned and worthy person, he became quite ashamed, and
was desirous of making amends for his behaviour to him, by
showing him all possible respect. And having feasted him
as much as he cared for, he ordered him to be sumptuously
apparelled, and putting money into his pocket, he made
him a present of a horse, and left him at full liberty either
to stay with him, or to depart at pleasure : where with Pri-
masso, being highly satisfied, gave him his most hearty thanks,
and returned to Paris on horseback, although he came thither
on foot." M. Cane della Scala, who was a man of good under-
standing, without any farther explanation, easily understood
what Bergamino meant to say, and, smiling upon him, re-
plied : " Well have you set forth your necessities and virtue,
as well as my' avarice ; and truly I never found myself so over-
powered with that vice, as now in your case ; but I will banish
it from me with the same correction that you have taught me."
So he ordered his landlord to be paid his full charges, put
Bergamino on a suit of his best clothes, gave him money in
his pocket, and a good horse to ride on, and left it to his own
choice whether to depart, or stay there with him.

F2

54

THE FIEST DAY.

NOVEL VIII.

Gulielmo Borsiere, hi/ n few smart wards checks tin
covetous/was of M. Ermino de' • ri u Idi.

Lauretta, who sat next tn 1'hilostratu?, hearing them
commend Bergamino's wit and perseverance , and knowing that
ir was now her turn, without waiting for any command, com-
menced in this manner : —

The last story puts me in mind, how a courtier of wit, re-
proached to good purpose, the covetousness of a certain rich
merchant ; which, although it may resemble the other, will
r.ot be the less agreeable, as it tended to as good an end.

There lived, not long since, at Genoa, a gentleman named
Signior Ermino de'Grimaldi, who, as was generally believed,
surpassed all the people of Italy in estate and wealth ; and. as
no prison in Italy could equal him in riches, so neither
there in the whole world one like him for greediness and sordid
avarice. For, so far was In- from being a friend to others,
that he even denied himself common necessaries ; contrary t<-
the custom of the Genoese, who delight to dress and live well.
On which account he had lost his true name of Glimaldi, and
was now known by no other than that of Ermino Avarice.

It came to pass, that, whilst by spending nothing, he went
on accumulating wealth, there came to Genoa a well-bred and
witty gentleman called Gulielmo Borsiere, one nothing like th<
courtiers of the present day; who. to the gnat reproach of the
debauched dispositions of such as would now be reputed fine
gentlemen, should more properly style themselves ;.
brought up amidst the tilt'niiKss and sink of mankind, rather
than in courts. And as, in former days, tiny spent their tinn
in making up differences between gentlemen, or in bringing

NOVEL VIII. 55

about alliances by marriage, affinity, or friendship ; and would
divert themselves, and those about them, with facetious and
witty repartees, and at the same time, like kind fathers, reprove
and lash such as deserved it, although with little recompense :
these upstarts of the present age employ their whole life in
speaking ill of, and sowing dissensions among their neighbours,
reporting scandals and lies, and this in the presence of any
one, upbraiding him with injuries, shame, and defamation,
true or not true, upon the least occasion ; till by their false
and deceitful flatteries, they bring gentlemen at last to every
thing that is vile and wicked. And him we see most caressed
by his untoward masters, who uses the most wicked expres-
sions and commits the vilest actions, to the eternal shame of
the present world, and a demonstration that virtue is gone
from among us, and hath left us wallowing in the sink of de-
bauchery. But to return from whence I have been led bv a
just resentment farther than I intended : This Gulielmo,
whom I before mentioned, was much visited and respected by
the better sort of people at Genoa ; when having made some
stay here, and hearing much talk of Ermino's sordidness, he
became desirous of seeing him. Now Ermino had been in-
formed of Gulielmo's worthy character, and having, however
covetous he was, some small sparks of gentility, he received
him in a courteous manner, and entering into discourse toge-
ther, he took him, and some Genoese who came along with
him to see a fine house which he had lately built : and when
he had shewed every part of it, he said : " Pray, Sir, can you,
who have heard and seen so much, tell me of something that was
never yet seen, to have painted in my hall ?" To whom Guliel-
mo, hearing him speak so simply replied, " Sir, I can tell you
of nothing which has never yet been seen, that I know of;
unless it be sneezing, or something of that sort ; but if you
please, I can tell you of a thing which, I believe, you never
saw." Said Ermino (little expecting such an answer as he
received. " I beg you would let me know what that is." Gu-
lielmo immediately replied, " Paint Liberality.'5 When Ermino
heard this, such a sudden shame seized him, as quite changed
his temper from what it had hitherto been ; and he said, " Sir,
I will have her painted in such a manner, that neither you, nor
any one else, shall be able to say, hereafter, that I am un-
acquainted with her." And, from that time, such effect had
Gulielmo's words upon him, he became the most liberal and
courteous gentleman, and was the most respected, both by
strangers and his own citizens, of any in Genoa.

56

THE FJEST DAY.

NOVEL IX.

77,(' King of Cyprus was so much affected by the words of a gen-
tlewoman of Gascogne, that from being a vicious prince he
became very virtuous.

The queen's last command rested on Eliza, who, without
waiting for it, began in this manner : —

It often happens that much pains have been taken, and many
n proofs spent in vain upon a person, when sometimes a word
thrown in by chance, and without any such design, has done
the business ; which appears plainly from the novel recited by
Lauretta ; and I purpose, also, in a very short story, to demon-
strate the same. A good thing said may often be of Bervice,
and ought to be regarded, whoever the person is that reports
it

During the reign of the first King of Cyprus, after the con-
quest of the Holy Land, by Godfrey of Boulogne, it happened
that a gentlewoman of Gascogne went on a pilgrimage to
visit the holy sepulchre, and, on her return home, being ar-
rived at Cyprus, she was ill-treated by a parcel of villains, and
making her complaint without receiving any redress, she re-
solved at length to go to the king ; but she was told, that she
would only lose her labour, for he was so careless in every re-
spect, and so little of a man, that, far from avenging the injuries
done to ethers, he suffered an infinite number of the most
shameful affronts offered to himself ; insomuch that whoever
were ollended at him might vent their resentment at any time
in the most opprobrious language. Which, when she had
heard, entirely despairing of redress, she yet proposed Bome
comfort to herself in lur calamity, to upbraid him for his
meanness of spirit; and coming all in tears before him, she

NOVEL IX. 57

said, " My lord, I appear in your presence not expecting to
be revenged for the injuries I have sustained : but this small
satisfaction 1 entreat, that you would tell ma how you can
bear those which I hear are committed towards yourself, that
I may from thence be instructed patiently to bear my own ;
which, God knows, were it in my power, 1 would willingly con-
sign to you, since you endure them so well." The king, who
till that hour had been dull and inactive, as if he had been
roused from a long sleep, began with avenging that lady's
wrongs in the strictest manner, and from that time forward
was most zealous in the punishment of every one who dared to
do any thing contrary to the honour of his crown.

58

THE FIRST DAY.

NOVEL X.

Albert of Bologna puts a lady to the blush, who thought to
have done as much to him, because she perceived him to be,
amorously inclined towards her.

After Eliza had finished, the last charge remained to the
queen ; who, in the most becoming manner, began as fol-
lows : —

Most virtuous ladies, as the stars when the sky is clear,
are the ornament of heaven, and as flowers in the spring are
the beauty of meadows ; in like sort is an easy manner of
speaking, and a facetious and pleasant discourse, set off and
embellished hy choice and elegant expressions, which by being
short, are better suited to women than men, insomuch as
many words, when fewer would serve the purpose, are most
disagreeable in the former. For there are few women now
who understand any thing that is smart and witty when
they hear it ; or, if they do understand, scarcely know how
to make a reply; which is much to the disgrace of our sex.
For that virtue which adorned the minds of women in former
times, is passed in our days into the ornaments of the body;
and she whose habit is most gaudy, and set on° with em-
broideries and fantastic ornaments, is most esteemed ; not
considering that, were you to load an ass with that finery,
it would be able to carry more than any one of them ; and
therefore, in that particular, they deserve not so much respect
as the ass. I am ashamed to mention these things, because,
whilst I censure other women, 1 am taxing myself. Such
showy painted tilings, what are they else but statues, dull and
insensible ; or if they answer a question, they had better

NOVEL X. 59

have been silent. Truly, they would have you think, that their
not knowing how to converse with men of sense proceeds from
their simplicity, and purity of mind, and therefore they call
their own foolishness by the name of modesty ; as if there were
no other honest women but she who converses with her cham-
bermaid, laundress, or kitchen-women ; and as if nature de-
signed them no other kind of conversation. Most sure it is,
that in this, as well as in other things, you are to consider when,
where, and with whom, you speak : for sometimes it happens,
that a man or woman, intending by some jest or other to put
a person to the blush, without having compared their strength
of wit with that of the other person, may find it recoil upon
themselves. Therefore, that we may be always upon our
guard, and not verify the proverb which is in every one's
mouth, That women always choose the worst, I desire that this
day's last novel, which is to come from myself, may make us
all wise, to the end that as we are distinguished from others
by birth and quality, we may not be behind them in discreet-
ness of behaviour.

It is not long since a famous physician was living at Bolog-
na (and perhaps may be so still) , of extraordinary note in his
profession, called Master Albert, one of so sprightly a disposi-
tion, though he was seventy years old, that notwithstanding
his natural heat and vigour had quite forsaken him, yet dis-
dained he not to receive the sparks of love. For having seen,
at an entertainment, a most beautiful lady, a widow, called,
as some say, Madam Malgherida de Ghisclieri, he was no less
smitten than if he had been a younger person : nor could he
rest at nights, unless he had seen the fair by day. This made
him pass backwards and forwards, sometimes on foot, and
sometimes on horseback, so often by the door, that she, and
some other ladies of her acquaintance, could not help taking
notice of it ; and would often make themselves merry to see a
person of his years and learning so ridiculously amorous ; sup-
posing love to be a passion peculiar to young people. Mas-
ter Albert continuing his marches to and fro by the house, it
happened on a festival, that this lady was sitting at the door
with some of her friends, and seeing him come at a distance,
they all agreed to receive him handsomely, and afterwards to
rally him on the affair of his love. Therefore, they rose up and
invited him into a pleasant room, where he was entertained
with rich wine and sweetmeats ; and at length they began
to inquire of him, as modestly as possible, how he could ever
think of being in love with so fine a lady, seeing how much
she had been solicited by many brisk, gay young gentlemen.
Master Albert, perceiving that they had drawn him in among
them, only to make a jest of him, put a merry countenance on
the matter, and replied : " Madam, it should seem no strange
thing to any considerate person, that I am in love, especially

GO FIRST DAY.

with you, because you so well deserve it. And though the
power be taken away by age, yet is the will remaining, as also
(he judgment to distinguish those who are most worthy our af-
fection ; and t'.iis in a greater degree, as age has more know-
ledge than youth. The hope that prompted me, who am old,
to love vou, who are courted by so many younger persons, is
this ; 1 have often, at an afternoon's collation, observed ladies
eating lupines and leeks, and though in the leek there be no
goodness at all, yet is the head the least hurtful, as well as
most agreeable to the taste : but you, guided by a wrong ap-
petite, will generally hold the head between your fingers, and
eat the stalk, which is not only good for nothing, but has also
a bad relish. Suppose, therefore, you choose a lover in the
same manner ; I shall be the happy person, and the rest of
your lovers all discarded."

The lady was in some confusion, as well as her companions ;
and she said to him, " Sir, you have given us a very just and
reasonable reprimand : I shall always value your respect, as
being a learned and worthy person; and you may ever, as far
as is consistent with my honour command me." Master Al-
bert arose, gave the ladies thanks, took his leave very merrily,
ami departed. Thus she, never considering whom she jested
with, met with her match ; of which, if you are wise, you will
hereafter be careful.

The sun was now descending in the west, and the heat of
the day much abated, when the novels were all ended ; upon
which the queen pleasantly said, " Nothing more remains to
be done during my administration for the present day, but to
give you a new queen to-morrow, who must take her turn, ac-
cording to the best of her judgment, in ordering every thing
that may be necessary for the continuance of our mirth. And
though the day ought to continue till it is night, yet, unless
you take time a little beforehand, you cannot so well provide
for what is to come ; and, that there may be time enough to
prepare whatever the queen shall think proper for the next
day, I think the following days ought to begin at this hour.
In regard then to Him by whom all things live, and for our
own well-doing, I appoint l'hilomena to be queen this second
day." And when she had thus spoken, she arose from her
seat, and having taken the crown from her own head, she re-
verently placed it on Philomena'*, humbly saluting her first
herself, and afterwards the rest of the company did the same,
submitting themselves cheerfully to her government. — Philc-
mena saw herself crowned with a gentle blush ; and calling to
mind what Pampinea had just now said, that she might not
seem remiss in her duty, she confirmed all the officers which
Pampinea had appointed ; then she ordered the morrow's pro-
n, as also the suppi r, so near approaching (they being to
continue there), and afterwards spoke iu this manner: — _

'3TJE TPM.01L1

NOVEL X. 61

" My dear friends, although Pampinea, more through her
own courtesy than any merit of mine, has made me your queen
yet am I not dipsosed to follow my own judgment as to our
manner of living, but rather to join my opinion with yours ;
and, therefore, that you may know what I intend to do, and
so alter it at your pleasure, I shall declare it in few words. If
I have well considered the method that has been taken to-day,
it seems agreeable enough, and till we either grow weary, or
find it inconvenient, not to change it. Holding on, then, as
we have begun, we will rise and divert ourselves a. while by
walking, and when the sun is down, we will sup in the open
air, and after we have had some songs and other diversions,
it will be time to go to bed : to-morrow morning, whilst it is
cool and pleasant, we will rise and take a walk -where we like
best, and return, as we have done to-day, about dinner-time,
and dance ; and, after reposing ourselves as before, come here
again to continue our novels, whieh to me seems full as enter-
taining, as it may be useful. There are some things, indeed,
which Pampinea could not accomplish, by reason of her late
promotion, which I propose to perfect ; namely, to keep you
within the bounds of some particular subject, to which your
novels are all to relate, and which is to be given you before-
hand, that you may have time to think of some pretty story to
the purpose ; which, if you please, shall be this : — As from
the beginning of the world, people have been all along conduct-
ed by fortune through the various chances of life, and will
be so to the end of it, you are all of you to relate a case where
a person, after going through a variety of troubles, beyond all
hope and expectation, at last meets with success." They all
approved the order that was given, and determined to obey
it, Dioneus only excepted, who, after the rest were silent,
said : " Madam, -I approve your order, as the rest have done,
and think it both pleasant and commendable ; but one special
favour I beg may be granted me, whilst this company continues
together ; namely, not to let me be constrained by the law
you have made, to relate a story according to the given theme,
unless I please, but that I may choose something I like better.
And that you may not think that I request this as if I were
unfurnished with discourses of this kind, I am content to be .
the last in every day's exercise." The queen, knowing him
to be a merry companion, and well considering that he would
not have moved this request, but with a design to make the
company laugh, when they were weary of any particular sub-
ject agreed to what he desired, with the consent of them all.
They now arose, and went to a crystal stream, which fell from
a little hill into a vale shaded with trees, where, washing both
their hands and their feet, much mirth passed among them,
till supper drawing near, made them return to the palace. When
that was over, the queen ordered the musical instruments to be

62 FIRST DAY.

brought, and that Lauretta should begin a dance, Emilia
singing to her, and Dioneus playing upon the lute ; with
which Lauretta immediately complied, and Emilia sung the
following song in a very fascinating manner.

SONG.

I.

With my own charms so blest am I,

Each other passion I defy ;

For ever as I gaze, and find

That good which still contents the mind

Nor former flame, nor future love,

The dear enjoyment can remove.

II.

Nor does the good I thus possess
Become by long admiring less ;
No— greater far's the joy I feel,
Than heart can think, or tongue reveal :
How great it is they only know,
Who long have sweetly languish'd so.

III.

And I (the more I fix my eyes,
And feel the pleasing passion rise)
Each thought direct, and wish confine,
To make the promised blessing mine,
And hope ere long a greater joy:
Where is the nymph so blest as I ?

The song being ended, in which they all joined, though the
words occasioned some speculation ; and after a few other
little sonnets, a good part of the night being now spent, the
queen thought proper to put an end to the first day ; lights
being consequently called for, she ordered every one to their
respective chambers, to repose themselves till the next morn-
ing.

H

THE DECi M EBON

THE SECOND DAY.

•

ALREADY had the sun ushered in the new day, the hirds
upon the blooming branches attesting it with their m< rry songs,
when the ladies and gentlemen arose, and went into the gar-
den ; where they spent Borne time in walking, and weaving

chapleta of flowers ; and, as they ha-1 d<mr the day before, after
taking a repast in the open air, and dancing, they reposed

themselves till the clock struck nine; at which time they took
their places, as the queen had appointed, in the same pleasant
nu-adow around her. She being- of a most graceful person,
and having on her a crown of laurel, looked round in a most
cheerful manner on the whole assembly, and then signified to
Neiphile that she should begin ; who, without offering any ex-
cuse, spoke as follows :—

THE SECOND DAY.

NOVEL 1.

Martellino, feigning himself to be a i

.-•■ ing laid upon the body of Saint Arrigo ; but his roguery
: din on red, It,- gets soundly : afterwards ap-
prehended, and in danger of /, but <:t I

It often happens, that he who endeavours to ridicule other
people, especially in things of a serious nature, becomes
himsell a jest, and frequently to his gr< at cost : as you will
perceive by what, in obedience to the queen's command I
am now going u relate ; an affair, which had a very uuluky
beginning, and which beyond all expectation, ended happSJ •
enough, to one of our city. ■

There lived not long since at Triers, a German, called
Amgo, who was a poor man, and served as a porter, when
any one pleased to employ him ; yet was he reputed a per-
Bon of a good life ; on which account (whether true or false
I I. now not) itwasaffirmed by the people of Triers, that at the

ery instant of his death, the bells of the great church r.

of tl

mg

u-ir own accord, which was accounted a miracle, and all
declared that this Arrigo was a saint, and they flocked to the
house where the corpse lay, and carried it as a sanctified body
to the great church ; bringing thither the halt, lame, and
blind, expecting that by the touch of it. they would all i

In so great a concourse ol | ple, it happened, that three of

our own city arrived there, one of whom was named Stecchi
another Martellino, and the third March ,,s that

frequented the courts of princes, to divert them as buffoons
and mimicks. None of these b iving ever been there before
aodseeing the great crowd of people running from all parts

ol the city, tiny were mm h surprised at it ; and hearing the

cause, were very desirous of se< ing the corpse. Theyleft their

baggage therefore at the inn, and Marches.- said, :' We will

NOVEL I. 65

see this saint ; but I do not know how we shall contrive to get
near enough ; for the street is full of soldiers and persons in
arms, whom the governor has stationed there, to prevent any
tumult in the city : and besides, the church is so thronged with
people, that it will be impossible to get in."

Martellino, who was eager to be a spectator, replied, "I
will find a way, notwithstanding, to get close to the very body."
" How," said Marchese, is "that possible ?" " I'll tell you,"
answered Martellino : " I intend to counterfeit a cripple, whilst
thou shalt support me on one side, and Stecchi on the other,
as if I were unable to walk by myself, bringing me towards the
saint to be cured ; and you will see every body make way for
us to go on." They were much pleased with the contrivance,
and went accordingly into a private place : when Martellino
distorted his hands, fingers, arms, legs, mouth, eyes, and his
whole countenance besides, in such a manner, that it was fright-
ful to behold him ; and nobody that saw him, but would have
imagined that he was really so lame and deformed. Being car-
ried in that guise by Marchese and Stecchi, they directed their
way to the church, crying out in a most piteous manner all
the way, to make room for God's sake ! to which the people
condescended. In a little time they attracted the eyes of every
one, and the general cry was, " Room ! room !" till at length
they came where the body of St. Arrigo lay ; when Martellino
was taken from them by some persons that stood around, and
laid all along upon the body, to the end he might, by that
means, receive the benefit of a cure. All the people's eyes
were now upon him, expecting the event ; when he, who was
master of his business, first began to stretch his fingers, then
his hands, afterwards his arms, and at last his whole body ;
which, when the people saw, they set up such shouts in praise
of St. Arrigo, that a clap of thunder would hardly have been
distinguished. Now it happened that a Florentine was not
far off, that knew Martellino very well (not whilst his body
was distorted, but after his pretended cure), who fell a laugh-
ing, and cried, " Good God ! who would not have taken him
to have been really a cripple ?" Which some of the bystan-
ders hearing, they immediately said, " And was he not so ?" —
" No," answered the other, "as God is my judge, he was
always as straight as any person here ; but he has the art, as
you have now seen, of turning his body into what shape he
pleases." There needed nothing further to set them all en
fire ; they therefore pressed most violently on, crying out to
seize the villain, that blasphemer of God and his saints, who
being in no wise disordered comes here to make a jest of our
saint and us. Whereupon they dragged him by the hair of
the head, and threw him upon the ground, kicking him and
tearing the clothes off his back ; nor was there a person there
that did not endeavour to give him a blow ; whilst Martellino
g 2

66 SECOND DAY.

kept crying out for God's sake to have mercy ; hut all to no
purpose : lor the blows thickened taster upon him. Marchese
and Stecchi now began to be in some pain for themselves, and
not daring to help him, they cried out with the multitude,
" Kill him! kill him!" contriving all the time how to gel him
out of their hands : nevertheless lie had certainly been mur-
dered, but for the following expedient Marchese, knowing
that the officers of justice were at the door, ran to the lieu-
tenant that commanded, crying out, " Sir, help me, for God's
sake ; here's a fellow that has picked niv pocket of a 'hundred
florins ; I beg you will assist me in getting then back again."
And immediately twelve of the Serjeants ran where Martel-
lino was in the utmost jeopardy, and with the greatest dif-
ficulty got him away, all trodden under foot and bruised as he
was ; and carried him to the palace, fallowed by many of the
people, who had been incensed against him ; and who now
hearing that he was taken up for a cut-purse, and seeing no
Other way of revenging themselves, declared that they hail also
been robbed by him. On hearing these complaints, the judge,
who was an ill-tempered man, took him aside and examined
him ; whilst Marteluno answered him in a jesting manner, mak-
ing no account of their accusations. At which the judge be-
ing provoked, ordered him to be tied by the neck, and soundly
lashed, that he might make him confess the crimes he was
charged with, in order to hang him afterwards. He being there-
fore bound down to the ground, the judge asking him if those
things with which he was accused were true ; and telling him
that it would be in vain to deny them : he then made answer
and said, " My lord, I am ready to confess the truth ; but
please to order first all my accusers to say when and where I
robbed them, and I will then tell you truly what I am guilty
of, and what not." The judge readily consented, and having
summoned some of them before mm, one said he had picked
his pocket eight days ago ; another four days, and some made
answer that he had robbed them that same day. Martellino
replied, " My lord, they arc all liars: for 1 had not been here
many hours (and would to God I had never come at all !) be-
fore I went to view this saint, where I got abused as you now
Bee. That this is true, the officer who keeps your book of
presentations, as also my landlord, will testify for me : there-
fore I beg you would not torture and put me to death, at the
instances of these people." When Marchese and Stecchi heard
what passed before the judge, ami that their friend was severely
handled, they began to be in great fear about him, saying to
themselves, that they had taken him out of the frying-pan, U
throw him into the tire : and they ran from place to place, to
find out their landlord, whom tiny acquainted with what had
happened : he, laughing heartily at their story, carried them to
"tie Alexander Agolanti, a person of great interesl in the city,

NOVEL I. a 7

to whom they related the whole affair, entreating him to have pity
on poor Martellino. Alexander, after much laughter, went to
the governor of the town, and prevailed upon him to have
Martellino brought into his presence. The messenger that
went for him, found him standing before the judge in his shirt
all terrified, because he would hear nothing in his favour (hav-
ing an aversion perhaps to our country people), and being pro-
bably resolved to hang him at all events : and he refused, till
he was compelled, to deliver him up. Martellino being brought
before the governor, told him every thing that happened ; and
entreated him, as a special favour, that he would let him go,
saying, that till he came to Florence, he should always think
he had the rope about his neck. The governor was highly di-
verted with the relation ; and ordering every one a suit of
apparel, beyond all their hopes they escaped from the most
imminent danger, and got safe and sound home.

68

THE SECOND DAY.

NOVEL II.

Rlnaldo d'Asti having been robbed, comes to Castel Gulielmo,
where he is entertained by a widow lady, makes good ids loss,
and returns safe home.

The ladies all laughed immoderately at Martellino's adven-
ture, as did the gentlemen likewise, hut more especially
Philostratus, who, as he sat next to Neiphile, was ordered
by the queen to begin his novel ; and he immediately com-
plied as follows : —

I am going to relate a story, consisting partly of misfor-
tune's, and partly of love, which may be of use to such as walk
in love's uncertain paths ; in which it happens to those who
have not said the Pater Nostcr of St. Julian, that they often
get a bad night's rest, though they lie in a good bed.

In the time of Azzo, marquis of Ferrara, a certain merchant
named Uinaldo d'Asti, came to Bologna to transact some af-
fairs of his own ; which being done, and he on his return
home, it chanced, as he came out of Ferrara, and was riding
towards Verona, that he foil in with some persons, who seemed
to be merchants also, but were in reality highwaymen, and un-
guardedly joined them. They, finding him to be a merchant,
and supposing therefore that he must have money about him,
resolved as soon as an opportunity offered, to rob him : and,
that he should have no suspicion, they rode on discoursing
with him like persons of reputation and character, shewing
themselves extremely complaisant and courteous, insomuch,
that he thought himself happy in meeting with such good com-
pany, as he was alone, and had only one servant. Talking of

NOVEL I, 69

various things, they began at last to speak of prayers, and
one of the rogues, there being three in number, turned towards
Rinaldo, and said, " And pray, sir what sort of prayer do
you use when you are upon a journey ?" — " In good truth,"
answered Rinaldo, "I know little of those matters, and am
roaster of very few prayers ; but I live in an old-fash-
ioned way, and can tell that twelve pence make a shilling ;
nevertheless, I always use, when I am upon a journey, beforel
go out of my inn, to say one Pater Xoster and one Ave Maria
for the souls of the father and mother of St. Julian, and after
that I pray to God and St. Julian to send me a good lodging
at night : and let me tell you, sir, very often have I met with
great dangers upon the road, from all of which 1 still escaped,
and when night drew on, I always came to a good lodging ;
which favour I firmly believe Saint Julian, to whose honour I
speak it, hath obtained of God for me ; nor do I think I
should ever travel securely, or succeed in my lodging at night,
were I to forget this prayer."

" Then," said the other, " to be sure you offered up that
prayer this morning?"

" Most certainly I did," answered Rinaldo. Said the
rogue to himself, having determined how to handle him,
" Thou wilt have need enough of it ; for, if I mistake not,
thy lodging is like to be none of the best:" and afterwards
he added, "1 have travelled much myself, yet did I never say
that prayer, though I have heard it often commended, and I have
always fared well, and now this night shall you see, which of
us will get the better lodging ; I must own, however, that in-
stead of it I have used the dirupisti, or the intemerata, or the
de profundis, which, as my grandmother was wont to tell
me, are of singular virtue. "

Thus they travelled along, discoursing upon many subjects,
and waiting for a fit time and place to put their wicked purpose
in execution ; when at length it happened, that the time,
growing late, and the place private, being at the ford of a river
near Castel Gulielmo, they made their assault, and robbed and
stripped him to the shirt ; and leaving him there on foot
he said to him, "Go, see if thy St. Julian will provide as
good a lodging for thee to-night, as we shall have :" so, passing
the river, away they went. The servant, like a rascal as he
was, seeing his master attacted, rode away without offering the
least assistance, and never stopped till he came to Castel Gu-
lielmo ; where, it being, late when he got in, without
giving himself any further trouble, he took up his lodging
Rinaldo remained there in his shirt, without shoes or stock-
ings ; the weather extremely cold, and snowing incessantly ;
not knowing what to do, the dark night coming on apace,
and he all over in a tremble, with his teeth chattering for cold,
now began to look round for shelter where he might continue

70 SECOND DAY.

that night, for fear of being starved to death ; but seeing none
(the whole country being laid waste by the late war,) and
being forced away by the cold, he trudged on towards Caste]
Gulielmo, not knowing whether his servant was gone thither
or elsewhere, but supposing, if he got admittance that he
should meet with relief. But before he came within a mile
of the town it grew quite dark ; and it was so late when he
got thither that finding the gates locked, and the bridge drawn
up he could obtain no entrance. Grieving much at this, and
now quite discouraged, he looked about to sec if he could find
a cover from the snow ; when by chance he spied a house stand-
ing a little way over the walls of the castle ; under which he
proposed to stand all night and then to depart ; there he
found a door in the wall, but fast locked ; anil gathering some
straw together which was lying about, he sat down thereon all
pensive and sad, and making loud complaints to St. Julian
telling him that this was not according to the confidence he
had always reposed in him. But St. Julian, who had a re-
gard for him, soon provided a better lodging. There was a wi-
dow lady in that castle, of great beauty, whom the Marquis
Azzo loved as his life, and kept in that house under which
ltinaldo had taken shelter. That very day the marquis was
to come to stay all night with her ; she having secretly 'pro-
vided a bath for him, and a most elegant supper. Every thing
being now ready, and only the marquis's company wanting, an
express arrived with dispatches, which required him to take
horse instantly ; he therefore sent to the lady to excuse him,
and posted away ; at which she was much concerned, and
not knowing how to pass her time, resolved to go herself
into the bath which she had provided for the marquis, and
then to sup and go to bed. Now it happened, that the bath
was near to the door where poor Kinaldo was sitting ; so that
she being therein, heard all his complaints and shiverings :
whereupon she called her maid, and ordered her to look over
the wall at the door threshold, ami inquire who that person
was there, and what he wanted. She went, and by the clear-
ness of the sky could just discern Rinaldo sitting in the man-
ner before described ; and having demanded of him who he
was, he made answer as well as he could, trembling all the while
so much that she could scarcely understand him, telling her
how he came thither, and entreating her not to let him perish
with cold. The girl \v.;s moved to compassion, and returning
to her mistress, related tin; whole story, who had pity on him
likewise, and recollecting that she had the key of the door,
which served for the private admission of the marquis some-
times, she said, " Go and open the door gently : we have vic-
tuals enough, and nobody to sit down, and we may also spare
him a lodging." The maid commended her great charity, and
having opened the door and found him almost frozen to death,

NOVEL II. 71

she said, " make haste, good man, and get thee into this hath,
which yet is warm ;" with which he immediately complied,
without waiting for any farther invitation : and found himself
so much refreshed by the warmth of it, that he seemed restore
ed from death to life. Then the lady sent him some clothes,
whch had been her husband's, and which fitted him as well
in all respects, as if they had been made for him. Expecting
her further commands, he began to thank God and St. Julian,
who had delivered him from the prospect of a most terrible
night and brought him at last where he was like to meet with
good entertainment. The lady, having now reposed herself a
little, ordered a great fire to be made in the hall, and coming
thither she inquired concerning the honest man, what sort of a
person he was ? To whom the maid replied, " Madam, now
he is clothed, he seems to be a good handsome man, and
well behaved." " Go then," said she, ''and call him, and bid
him come to the fire, and he may also sup with me, for I fear
he has had but a sorry supper." When Hinaldo came into the
hall, and saw the lady, who appeared to him to be a woman
of consequence, he made her the most profound reverence,
shewing all possible acknowledgments for the favours he had
received. And the lady, finding him to answer the character
she had received of him from her maid, made him sit down
freely by the fireside with her ; and inquired concerning the
misfortunes which had brought him thither, of which he gave
her a faithful account, and obtained her easy credit, she having
heard something of the servant's coming thither before : she
then told him what she knew of the matter, and how the fel-
low was to be met with in the morning. Supper being now
served up, they washed their hands, and sat down together.
He was tall in person, and agreeable enough both in coun-
tenance and behaviour, and a middle-aged man : she often
therefore, cast her eye upon him, and finding him to suit her
fancy, as soon as supper was ended advised with her maid whe-
ther she might not fairly (since the marquis had put such a
slight upon her) make use of the opportunity which fortune had
thrown in her way. The girl, who knew how to please her
mistress, readily concurred. The lady now returned to the
fire, where she had left Rinaldo by himself, and looking plea-
santly at him, she said, " Why so thoughtful, Sir ? does the loss
of your horse and a few clothes affect you so much ? Comfort
yourself ; you are in my house, and I can tell you fartner, that,
seeing you in my husband's clothes, I could not help think-
ing, several times to night, that he himself was present, and I
was going more than once to have saluted you." Rinaldo
was too great a connoisseur in love-matters not to take her
meaning. The affair therefore, was soon agreed, and to bed
they went, and in the morning, to prevent the least suspicion,
she gave him some old clothes, and filled his pocket with mo-

72 SECOND DAY.

ney, begging of him to keep it secret ; and having directed
him where to find his servant, she let him out at the same
door he came in at. He therefore, as soon as it was broad day,
entered into the castle as if he had come a great way off, where
he found the fellow, and sunn clothed himself out of his portman-
teau ; and as he was going to mount his man's horse, by great
fortune, it happened that the three rogues, who had robbed
him the day before, were taken up on some other account, and
brought" into the castle : when by their own confession, he
got his horse, clothes, and money, returned to him, and lost
nothing but a pair of garters, which they knew not what was
become of. Kinaldo now thanked God and St. Julian, and
mounting his horse, arrived safe at his own house, and the very
next day the three villains were exhibited in public, danc-
ing on nothing.

^

■rv.

i

73

THE SECOND MY.

NOVEL III.

Three young gentlemen lavish away their fortunes, and a nephew
of theirs returning home in as desperate a condition, falls in
company with an Abbot, whom he afterwards found to be the
King of England' s daughter, who marries him, and makes good
his uncles1 losses, resettling them in their former prosperity.

All admired the adventures of Rinaldo d'Asti, and commen-
ded his devotion, giving thanks to God and St. Julian who had
succoured him in his great necessity. Nor was the lady blamed
(though they did not care to speak out) for making use of the
opportunity that offered : whilst they were laughing at these
things, Pampinea, finding that she was to speak next, after a
little considering what she was to say, and receiving the queen's
command, began at last in this manner : —

The more we speak of the acts of fortune, so much the more,
to such as consider them attentively, there remains to be spo-
ken : which none need wonder at, who consider that all things
which we foolishly call our own, are in her power ; and that she
blindly wills them from one to another incessantly, and without
any rule or method that can be discovered by us. Which, though
it be showed every day in every thing, and has also been en-
larged upon in some former novels, nevertheless, as the queen
is pleased that this should be our present subject, I shall add a
story to what has been said already, which I think you will not
dislike.

There dwelt formerly, in our city, a knight named Tebaldo,
who, as some report, was of the family of the Lamberti ; though
others say he belonged to the Agolanti : but be that as it
will, he was the most wealthy knight of all that lived in his time,

H

71- SECOND DAY.

and had three sons ; the eldest was called Lamberto, the second
Tebaldo, and the third Agolante, all courteous and genteel
young persons; though the eldest was not above eighteen

when their father died, leaving them in possession of his vast
wealth ; who finding themselves so rich, and having nohody
to control them, began to spend apace, by keeping vast num-
bers of servants, and fine horses, and docs, and hawks,
with open house for all comers, making continual tilts and
tournaments, and sparing no diversions that belong to gentle-
men ; indulging themselves besides in every youthful lust
and passion. They had not led this life long, before their riches
began to waste, and their rents not being sufficient to defray
their current expenses, they mortgaged and sold first one
estate, and then another ; so that they saw themselves com-
ing to nothing, and then poverty opened their eyes, which
had been hitherto kept shut. One day, therefore, Lamberto
called his two brothers together, and set forth to them the great
repute in which their father had lived, and the wealth he had
left them, and how much they were now impoverished, through
their inordinate expenses ; advising them, in the best man-
ner he was able, that before matters grew worse, they should
sell the little that was left, and retire from that quarter.
His advice was followed ; and, without taking any leave,
or making the least stir, they left Florence, and went directly
for England. Coming to London, they took a little house,
and lived as frugally as possible, letting out money at interest,
And fortune was so kind to them, that in a few years they got
a great deal of money : by which means, it happened, that first
one and then another returned to Florence, where they
recovered back a great part of their estates, and purchased
others to them, and got married ; and keeping on their bank-
ing trade still in England, they sent a nephew thither, whose
name was Alessandro, to manage their business. The three
brothers, therefore, continued at Florence ; and, forgetting to
what misery they had been reduced by their former extra-
vagance, and notwithstanding they all had families, began
to spend immoderately, having large credit from the merchants.
Their expenses were supported for some years by returns from
Alessandro, who had let out money to the barons upon their
castles, and other estates, which turned to good account.
Whilst the three brothers continued spending in this manner,
and borrowing whenever they stood in need, having their whole
dependance upon returns from England; contrary to every
one's expectation, a war broke out there between the king and
his son, which divided the whole kingdom, some taking part
with one, and some with the Other ; on which account, the bar-
ons' castles, which were in Alessandro's possession, were seized
on, and nothing left him that turned to any profit : but living
in hopes of peace every day, and then that he should have

NOVEL III. 75

both principal and interest. Alessandro still continued in the
kingdom, whilst the three brethren at Florence abated nothing
of their extravagance, but continued borrowing more daily. And
no money coming for some years, as was expected, they lost
all their credit, and people being desirous of getting what was
their due, their effects were seized, which not being found
sufficient, they were thrown into prison for the remainder, and
their wives and children dispersed up and down the country,
in a most distressed condition, with no prospect but of misery
the rest off their lives. Alessandro, after waiting some years,
and finding no likelihood of peace in England, but that he
continued there to no purpose, and in danger of his life, re-
solved for Italy ; and he set out by himself; and as he was
going out of Bruges, he overtook a young abbot, clothed in
white, attended with a great equipage : two ancient knights
followed, related to the king. These Alessandro joined ; and
having made himself known to them, was well received.

Travelling together, he modestly inquired who those monks
were that rode before, with such a retinue, and whither they
were going ? When one of the knights made answer, and said,
" He that rides first is a young gentleman, a relation of ours,
who is lately made abbot of one of the richest abbeys in Eng-
land ; and. because he is younger than is required by the
law for such a dignity, we are going to Rome to entreat our
holy father to dispense with his want of years : but this is to
be a secret." The new abbot riding sometimes before his com-
pany, and sometimes behind (as is usual with persons on
the road) got sight at last of Alessandro, who was a grace-
ful, well-behaved young gentleman, and was so taken with
him at the very first view, that he never saw any one iie liked
better : and having called him aside, he inquired who he was,
whence he came and whither he was going. Alessandro an-
swered him very ingenuously, and, at the same time, made him
an offer of his little service. The abbot was much pleased
with his modest and pretty manner both of speaking and be-
haviour ; finding, though his business was mean, that he was
a gentleman. And being full of compassion for his losses, he
begun to comfort him in a friendly manner, bidding him to
be of good courage, for if he were a worthy man, God might
exalt him to a higher pitch than that from which fortune had
cast him down ; and desired him, as he was going towards
Tuscany, to make one in his company, because he was like-
wise travelling thither. Alessandro returned .thanks for the
encouragement he had given him, and said, he was entirely
at his service. The abbot riding on (having got some new fan-
cies in his head, since the sight of Alessandro,) chanced, after
some days' travelling, to come to a country village, which
afforded but bad accommodations ; and, because the abbot had
a mind to lie there, Alessandro made him alight at the house

76 SECOND DAY.

of a person with whom he was acquainted, and provided
him a bed in the least incommodious part of the house. And
being now become steward of household, as it were, to the ab-
bot, he disposed of the company in different parts of the town
in the most convi nicnt manner lie was able. And after the
abbot had supped, it being now midnight, and e\ery one gone
to rest, Alessandro then inquired of the landlord where lie was
to lie. Who mule answer, " In good truth, sir, you see my
house is quite full, so that I and my family must be forced to
sleep on benches ; vet there are some granaries in the abbot's
chamber: I can carry a pallet-hed for you thither, and you
may rest as well as you can." "But landlord," quothAlessan-
dro, " how can I be in the abbot's chamber, it being so small
that there is no room for any of his monks ? If I had thought
of it before the curtains were drawn, the monks should have lain
in the granaries, and I should have gone where the monks
are." Said the host, " The case is this; you may lie there,
if you please, as well as any where in the world : the abbot is
asleep, and his curtains drawn; I can convey a little bed
thither softly, and you may rest very comfortably." Alessandro,
finding that it might be done without disturbing the abbot,
consented, and accommodated himself there with as little noise
as possible .

The abbot, whom his love kept awake, beard what passed
between Alessandro and his landlord ; and finding that Ales-
andro was there, he began to reason with himself in this man-
ner : " I have now a fit opportuti.ty to compass my desires ;
if I let this pass, the like may never offer again." Resolving
therefore to make use of it, and supposing that all was
quiet in the house, he called, with a low voice, "Alessandro!"
and bade him come and lie down by him: who, after many
excuses, undressed himself, and went to bis bed. The abbot
now laid his, hand upon the other's breast, as a lover would
do ; which Alessandro was much surprised at ami began to
fear that he had some bad design ; which, as soon as the
abbot perceived, he could not help smiling ; ami h
laid his bosom bare, he took Alessandro' 8 hand and put it upon
it, saying, " Be not afraid : convince yourself of what 1 am."
Alessandro laid his hand there, and found two breasts smooth
and delicate like polished ivory, which convinced him that
it was a woman : and lie was going to have been more familiar ;
when she interrupted him, saying, " Before you come nearer
to me, observe v. bat 1 am going to say : 1 am a woman, and
not a man, as you see, and was now travelling to the pope, for
him to dispose of me in marriage: but whether it be _\our
good fortune, or my unhappiness, since I first saw you, the
other day, I could not forbear loving you, and 1 assure you,
no woman ever loved a man better than I do \ou : 1 therefore
am determined to marry you in preference to any other per-

NOVEL III 77

son ; and if you will not accept of me, go from whence you
came." Though she was unknown to Alessandro, yet,
when he considered the company that was with her, he sup-
posed she must be a lady of distinction, and her person he
saw was beautiful ; therefore, without much consideration, he
declared, that if she was willing, he should be highly pleased.
She then rose up in bed, and turning towards a crucitix that
stood upon the table, gave a ring into his hand, and made
him espouse her. The next morning they proceeded on their
journey to Rome ; and in a day or two she, with the two
knights and Alessandro, were introduced to his holiness, and,
after the proper ceremony wras over, she addressed herself to
him in this manner : " Holy father, you know better than any
body, that they who desire to live honestly and welt should
avoid, as much as in them lies, all occasions which may lead
them to act otherwise. For which reason have I come away,
with a great part of the treasure of my father, who is King of
England, and was about to marry me, young as I am, to the
King of Scotland, who is very old, to beg that your holiness
would dispose of me in marriage. Nor was it the age of the
King of Scotland that made me fly, so much as the fear of doing,
through my frailty, was I married to him, what should be
contrary both to the laws of God, and to the honour of our
royal house. As I was coming with this intention, 1 acciden-
tally beheld this young gentleman, whose merit and behaviour
make him worthy of the greatest princess, although his family
be less noble. Him have I chosen, nor will I think of any
other, however it may seem to my father or any one else.
The principal inducement then to this journey is removed :
but I chose to proceed, that I might visit the holy places with
which this city abounds, and also your holiness, to the end
that the contract of marriage, made only in the presence of God
may be declared in yours, and so made public to the world :
wherefore I humbly entreat your blessing, to make us more
capable of pleasing Him, whose vicar you are, that we may
live together to the honour of God and of you, and at length
die so." Alessandro was greatly surprised, and overjoyed
when he heard his wife was the King of England's daughter ;
but the knights were enraged beyond measure, and, had it
not been in the pope's presence, they had certainly offered
violence to Alessandro, and perhaps to the princess likewise.
On the other hand, the pope was in amaze, both at her dress
and the choice she had made ; but seeing what was done
could not be remedied, he was willing to satisfy her request ;
and having comforted the two knights, whom he saw in con-
fusion, and reconciled them to the lady and Alessandro, gave
aiders fur what he would have done. And when the day ap-
pointed was come, he made the lady appear most royally
dressed before all the cardinals, and other great personages,
H 2

78 SECOND DAT

who had been invited to a most magnificent feast, where she
appeared so beautiful and courteous, that every one was
charmed with her : in like manner was Alessandro richly
apparelled ; in his aspect and behaviour being more like a
prince, than a person brought up to trade, and was much
honoured by the two knights. The pope saw the marriage
celebrated with all imaginable grandeur ; and after receiving
his benediction, they took their leave. Alessandro and his lady
were desirous, when they left Koine, of seeing Florence, where
fame had already carried the news of their marriage ; and they
were received with the utmost respect. She immediately took
the three brothers out of prison, paying all their debts, and set-
tled them and their wives in their former estates. This gained
them the good will of every one ; and departing thence, they
took Agolante with them, and came to Paris, where the king
recieved them in a most honourable manner. From thence
the two knights went to England, where they pre-
vailed so far with the king, that he forgave his daughter, and
received them with all possible demonstrations of joy, making
his son-in-law a knight, and creating him Earl of Cornwall.
Alessandro's behaviour and conduct were such, that he accom-
modated matters between father and son, which was of great
service to the kingdom, and gained the love and esteem of eve-
ry one. Agolante recovered all that was due to him, and return
ed to Florence immensely rich, being| first knighted by Count
Alessandro, who lived happily with his princess ; and it is re-
ported that, through his prudence and valour, and the assistance
of his father-in-law, he made a conquest of Scotland, and was
crowned king thereof.

/

THE SECOND DAY

NOVEL IV.

Landolpho Ruffolo, falling into poverty, became a pirate, and was
taken by the Genoese, and suffered shipwreck ; but saved him-
self upon a cask of jewels-, and was taken out of the sea by a
woman at Corfu, and afterwards returned home very rich.

Lauretta sat next to Pampinea, and finding her tale now
brought to a fair conclusion, began thus : —

Most kind ladies, there is no greater act of fortune, in my
opinion, than to see one of low condition arrive at princelv
dignity, as Pampinea has just now shewed us in the case of
Alessandro. And though it be necessary that whoever dis-
courses on the subject proposed, should keep within the very
same terms, yet shall I not scruple to relate a story, which not-
withstanding it contained greater hardships than" the former,
had not so glorious an end. I am sensible that," in this res-
pect, I shall be the less regarded ; but, as I am able to give
you no better I hope you will excuse me. It is generally said,
that the sea coast from Reggio to Gaeta is the pleasantest part
of Italy ; that part of it near Salerno, which the inhabitants
call the Coast of Malfi, is full of little towns, gardens, rivulets,
as also rich people expert at merchandize ; amongst the rest
there is a town called Ravello, in which were many wealthy
persons, and one especially, called Landolpho Ruffolo, who,
not content with his great store, but willing to make it double,
was near losing all he had, and himself also. This man, having
settled his affairs, as other merchants are used to do, bought a
large ship, and freighting it all on his own account, set sail for
the island of Cyprus. He there found many ships laden with
the same commodities, in regard to which it was necessary for
him not only to make a quick mart of his goods, but he was
also farther constrained, if he meant to dispose of them at all,

80 SECOND DAY.

to sell them for a trifle, to his great loss and almost ruin :
grieving much thereat, nor knowing what to do, seeing that
from great wealth he was reduced almost to poverty, he re-
solved either to die, or to repair his losses from other people,
before he would return home poor, as he came from thence so
rich. Meeting with a merchant, who bought his great ship
of him, with the money made of that and his other mer-
chandize, he purchased a light little vessel lit for a pirate, arm-
ing and furnishing it with every thing proper for that purpose,
intending to make other people's goods his own, and especially
those of the Turks. And fortune was abundantly more favour-
able to him in this way of life, than she had been in merchan-
dize ; for, in the space of a year, he took so many Turkish
prizes, that he found he had not only got his own again, but
made it more than double. Being now comforted for his former
loss, and thinking he had enough, and for fear of a second dis-
aster, he resolved to make the best of his way home with what
he had acquired : and, as he was still fearful of trade, he had
no mind to employ any more of his money that way, but set
sail in the little vessel in which he had gained it. He was no
sooner in the Archipelago, but night drew on, and a sirocco or
great south-east wind arose, directly contrary to their intended
course, which made such a sea, that the ship could not bear
up against it, and they were glad to get into a bay under the
cover of a little island, to wait for better weather. Landolpho
had just entered the harbour when two Genoese ships came in
from Constantinople to avoid the same storm : and as soon as
the men in them saw the small bark, they blocked her up in
the passage, and understanding whom she belonged to, and
that the owner was known to be rich ; as men addicted to
plunder and rapine, they resolved to make it their own prize ;
landing some of their men, therefore, well armed with cross-
bows and other weapons, they possessed themselves of a station,
to prevent any of the crew's issuing out of the bark, unless they
ran the hazard of their lives, whilst the rest got into the long
boat, and the sea being favourable, they soon boarded Landol-
pho's vessel, and took all his people, and every thing in it,
without the loss of a man, leaving him nothing but a waist-
coat ; and after they had cleared the vessel, they sunk her.

The day following, the wind being changed, they set sail, and
had a good voyage all that day; but night coming on, the wind
became boisterous again, and the storm was such that the two
ships were parted, whilst that wherein poor Landolpho was,
drove with the utmost violence upon the coast of Cephalonia,
and broke all to pieces. The poor wretches that were on board

the sea being covered with all sorts of merchandize, and
with chests, tables, &c. as is common in sueh eases), notwith-
standing it was dark, and the waves very great, endeavoured,
such as were able to Bwitn, to lay hold oi such things as they

XOVEL IV. 81

saw floating. Amongst these was the unfortunate Landolpho,
who, though he had wished for death a thousand times the day
before, rather than to be carried home a beggar ; now lie saw
death at hand, was sufficiently terrified, and got hold of a
plank, like the rest, in hopes that, by delaying his fate, God
would send him some means for bis escape : and riding upon
it as well as he could, being driven by the wind backwardr and
forwards, he supported himself till it was day-light, and then
looking;- round him be eould see nothing but clouds and water,
and a cbest driving towards him, which came so near him
sometimes, that be was afraid it would dash against him ; when
hewovld endeavour, with the little strength he had left, to
put it by with his hand ; at length it happened that a great
blast of wind sent it with such violence against the board
whereon he was sifting, that it was overset, and he soused over
head and ears in the water; but rising again, and swimming
more out of fear than any strength, he found himself at such
a distance, that he was afraid he could not recover it ; getting
therefore to the che>t, which was nearer, he laid his breast
upon it as well as be could, and pnt his arms round it, and in
this manner was he ear: iod up and down, eating nothing, be-
cause be had it not, and drinking more than he desired, with-
out knowing where he was, or seeing any thing but water for
a day and a night. The next morning (whether it was through
God, or the force of the winds) Landolpho, who was well nigh
become a sponge, holding his arms strongly about the chesti
we often see people seize upon any thing to avoid beingsa
dorwned, drew near to the island of Corfu, where, by good
fortune, a poor woamn was scowering her disies with salt water
and sand, who, when she saw him approach, and not perceiving
him to be of any shape or figure, cried out and retreated : as
he was unable to speak, neither could he see much ; but, as
the waves pleased, he was carried to the land, and then she
could distinguish the shape of the chest ; and looking more
narrowly, she saw an arm laid over it, and then a face, when
she supposed how the case was ; and being moved by com-
passion, stepped a little way into the sea, which was now calm,
and taking hold of the hair of his head, drew both him and
the chest to land, and, with much trouble unfolded his arms
from the chest, which she set upo nher daughter's head who
was with her ; and she carried him like a little child to the
town, and put him into a stove, and chated and washed him
with warm water, by which means the vital warmth began to
return, and he got some strength. In due time she took him
out of the stove, and comforted him with wine and good cor-
dials, and kept him some days till he knew where he was :
she then restored him his chest, and told him he might now
provide for his departure., He, who remembered nothing
about it, received it from the hands of the woman, as sup-

82 SECOND DAY.

posing it might serve for his expenses a small time, how little
soever it was worth ; and finding it very light, was something
disheartened ; however, as she was out of the way, he broke
it open, and found a great quantity of jewels, both such as were
set, and others, of which he had some judgment, and know-
ing their value, he was now thoroughly comforted, praising
God for not having yet forsaken him ; but as he had been
twice buffetted by fortune already, and being fearful of a third
mishap, he judged that great caution was requisite to bring
these things safe home ; he wrapped them t»p, therefore, in
old rags, as well as he could, and told the woman that he had
no further use for the chest, but that she might keep it if she
would give him a sack in its stead, which she was very glad to
do : and now returning her a thousand thanks, he departed
with his sack upon his neck, and passed over in a bark to Bran-
dizio, and so from one sea to another till he came to Trani,
where he met with merchants of his own town, who clothed
him out of charity, after he had told them all that had hap-
pened to him, excepting that of the chest of jewels ; they also
gave him a horse, and sent company with him to Kavello,
whither he said he was resolved to return ; and finding himself
there in safety, he thanked God for it : and now he inquired
more narrowly into his sack than he had done before, and
found so many valuable jewels, that, rating them at the low-
est prices, he was twice as rich as when he left home. Find-
ing means therefore to dispose of them, he sent a sum of money
to the women at Corfu, who had taken him out of the sea, and
treated him so kindly; and also to the merchants at Trani
for clothing him ; and he lived handsomely upon the remainder
(without having any more mind to trade) the rest of Ins life.

S3

THE SECOND DAY.

NOVEL V.

Andreuccio, of Perugia, coming to Naples to buy horses, met
with three remarkable accidents in one night ; from all which
he escapes, and returns with a ruby of value.

The jewels found by Landolpho put me in mind, said Flam-
metta, whose turn it was now to speak, of a story which con-
tains as many perils as the last, although it be difFerent in
this respect ; viz. that the first happened in the course of
some years, whereas these fell out in the space of one night,
as you shall hear. There lived, as I have heard, at Perugia,
a young man named Andreuccio di Pietro, a dealer in horses,
who, hearing of a good market at Naples, put five hundred flo-
rins of gold into his purse ; and, having never been from
home before, went with some "other dealers, and arrived thi-
ther on a Sunday in the evening: and according to the
instruction he had received from his landlord, he went into the
market next morning, where he saw many horses to his mind ;
cheapening their price as he went up and down, without com-
ing to any bargain. But to shew people that he came with
an intent to buy, he unadvisedly pulled out his purse on all
occasions ; insomuch, that a certain Sicilian damsel (who was
at every one's service for a small matter) got a sight of it, as
she was passing along, without being observed by him : and
she said to herself, " Who is there that would be my betters,
if that purse were mine ? and passed on. Along with her was
an old woman, of Sicily likewise, who, as soon as she saw
Andreuccio, ran to embrace him ; which- the young woman
observing, without saying a word, stepped aside to wait for
her. He immediately knew her, to her great joy, and without
much discourse there, she having promised to come to his inn,

si \I> DAY.

he wr>nt <>n nix. ut hit business, but bought nothing all dial
morning. The young iroman taking notice first of die parse
and then of the old n >man im, and contri-

ving li".\ to .come at all or pari <>f the money, began to en-
quire of her, as cautiously a* might be, it the knew who that
man vs.xs, or whence he came, or what was his business, and
alao how ^!ie happened to know him : which she answered
in every particular aa fully as he himself could have done,
having lived a long time with his father in Sicily, and after-
wards at Perugia; telling her alao the cause ofhii coming thi-
ther, and when be was to return. Thinking herself now suf-
ficiently instructed, both concerning his kindred, and their
names, she grounded her scheme upon it in the m «t artful
manner possible ; and going home, she sent the old woman
out upon business for the whole day, to hinder b< r returning
to him ; anil in the mean tune, toward the evening, she dis-
patched a young woman, well trained for such service, to his
lodgings, who found him, by chance, sitting alone at the door,
ami inquiring of him whether he knew such a person, he made
answer, that he was the man : upon which she took him a little
. and said, " Sir, a gentlewoman of this city would gladly
speak with you, if you please." On hearing this, he began to
consider the matter; and, as sin- seemed to be a creditable
girl, he held it for granted that the lady must be in love with
him ; thinking himself as handsome a man as any in Naples :
ke answered, therefore, that he was ready, and demanded
where and when the lady would speak with him. The girl
replied, " She expects you at her own house as soon as it is
agreeable to you."

Without Baying a word then to the people of the inn, he bade
her shew him the way ; and she brought him to her house,
in a certain Btri et famous for such sort of guests : but he, know-
ing nothing of the matter, nor at all suspecting, but that he
visiting a place of repute, and a lady that had taken a
fancy t; him, went into the house, and goii g up si lira whilst
the girl called aloud to her mistress, telling her that An-
dn ui i io was th< re . found her at the top waiting for him. She
was young and beautiful enough, and very well dressi d. See-
ing him appear, therefore, she ran down two <>r three steps
with open arms to meet him ; and taking him ahout the neek.
she stood some time without speaking a word, as if prevented

by her over great tenderness ; at last, shedding abundance of

. and kissing him over and over, she said (her words
ing interrupted as it were with tran p t), " O my Andreueeio !
you are heartily welcome." He (quite astonished at being
care sed in such a manner) replied, " Madam, 1 am proud of
the honour to wail upon you." she then took him by the hand,
and led him, without saying a word more, through a large
Qg-room into her own chamber, which was perfumed with

NOVEL V. 85

roses, orange-flowers, and other costly odours, where was also
a fine bed, and other rich furniture, far beyond what he had
ever seen before, which convinced him that she was some
great lady : and sitting down together upon a couch at the
bed's feet she addressed herself to him in this manner: " An-
dreuccio, I am very sure you must be under great astonish-
ment both at my tears and embraces, as being unacquainted
with me, and perhaps never having heard of me before : but
you will now hear what will surprise you more, namely, that I
am your sister : and I assure you, that since God has indulged
me with the sight of one of my brethren, as I wished to have
seen thern all, I could die contented this very moment : if
you be unacquainted with the particulars of my story, I will
relate them. Pietro my father and yours, as I suppose you
must know, lived a long time at Palermo, where he was much
respected for his behaviour and good-nature (and may be so
still) by all that knew him. Amongst others that liked him on
that account was my mother, a widow lady ; who, notwith-
standing the regard due to her father and brothers, as well as
to her own honour, cohabited with him, till at length I was
born, and am now what you see. Having occasion afterwards
to retire from Palermo, and to return to Perugia, he left me there
an infant, with my mother, and from that time, as far as I can
learn, took no more notice either of me or her ; which, were he
not my father, 1 could blame him for ; considering what in-
gratitude he shewed to my mother, to omit the love he owed
to me his child, begotten of no vile prostitute, who, out of her
abundant love, had put herself and all her wealth into his
hands, without having any farther knowledge of him. But to
what purpose I 111 actions, done so long since, are easier
blamed than amended : yet so it was ; he left me as I said, at
Palermo, an infant, where when I grew up, my mother who
was rich, married me to one of the family of the Gergenti;
who, out of regard to me and her, came and lived at Palermo,
where, falling into the faction of the Guelphs, and having begun
to treat with our King Charles, he was discovered by Fre-
derick, king of Arragon, before his scheme could take effect, and
forced to fly from Sicily, at a time when I expected to have
been the greatest lady in the island. Taking away what few
effects we were able (I call them few, with regard to the abun-
dance we were possessed of), and leaving our estates and pa-
laces behind us, we came at length to this place, where we found
King Charles so grateful, that he has made up to us, in part,
the losses we had sustained on his account, giving us lands and
houses, and paying my husband, and your kinsman, a pension
besides, as you will hereafter see : thus I live here, where,
thanks be to Heaven, and not to you, my dearest brother, I
now see you." Which when she had said, she wept and em-
braced him again.

B6 51 I OND DAY.

Andreuccio bearing this fable so orderly, so artfully com-
posed, and related without the least faltering or hesitation;
remembering, also, that his lather had lived at Palermo, and
knowing hy his own experience, how prone young fellows are
to love ; beholding too her tears and affectionate caresses, he
took all she had said for granted ; and when she had done
speaking, he made answer and said, " Madam, it should not
seem strange to you, that 1 am surprised : for, in truth (whe-
ther it was that my father, for reasons best known to himself,
never mentioned you nor your mother at any time j or, if he
did, that I have forgot it), I have no more knowledge of you,
than if you had never been born. And it is the more pleasing
to me to 6nd a sister here, as 1 the less expected it, and am
also alone : nor is there any man, of what quality soever, who
would not value you ; much more, therefore, shall J, who am
but a mean trader. Hut one thing 1 beg you would clear uj)
to me, viz. " How came you to know that I was here !" When
she replied in this manner :

" A poor woman, whom I often employ, told me so ; for
she lived, as she informed me, with our father a considerable
time, both at Palermo and Perugia ; and were it not that it ap-
peared more reputable that you should come to me at my house,
than I go to you at another person's I had come directly to
you." She then inquired of him particularly, and by name,
how all their relations did ? To all which he answered her
fully ; believing more firmly, when there was the more reason
for suspicion. Their discourse lasting a long time, and the
season being sultry, she ordered, in Greek, wine and sweet-
meats for him ; and he making an ofier afterwards to depart,
because it was supper-time, she would by no means suffer it;
but seeming to be under great concern, she embraced him,
and said, " Alas ! now 1 plainly see how little account you
make of me ; that, being with a sister whom you never saw
before, and in her house, which you should always make your
home, you should yet think of going to sup at an inn. In-
deed you shall sup with me ; and though my husband be abroad,
which 1 am much concerned at, I know, as a woman, how to
pay you some little respect." lie, not knowing what an-
swer to make, said, " 1 love you as much as it is possible for
me to love a sister ; but it will be wrong not to go, because
they mil expect me to supper all the evening." She immedi-
ately replied, " We have ;•. present remedy for that, I will send
one of my people to tell them not to expect you : but you would
favour me more, and do as you ought, if you would send to invite
your company hither to BUpper, and afterwards, if you chose to
go, you might all of you depart together." lie said, he should
not trouble her that evening with his companions, but she
might dispose of him as she pleased. She now made a pre-
tence of sending to his inn, to tell them not expect him tosup-

NOVEL V. 87

per ; and, after much other discourse, they sat down, and
were elegantly served with a variety of dishes, which she con-
trived to last till it was dark night, and rising then from table,
he offered to go away ; but she declared, that she would by no
means suffer it, for Naples was not a place to walk in when
it was dark, especially for a stranger : and, as she had sent to
the inn concerning his supping with her, so had she done the
like about his bed. He believing this to be true, and glad also
of being with her, was easily prevailed upon. After supper,
their discourse lasted a long time, being lengthened out on
purpose ; and, as it was now midnight, she left him in her
own chamber to take his repose, with a boy to wait upon him;
and she, with her companions, retired into another room. It
was sultry hot, on which account Andreuccio, seeing himself
alone, stripped into his doublet, and pulling off his breeches,
he laid them under his bolster, and having occasion to retire,
he asked the boy to shew him a conveniency ; who pointed to
a corner of the room where there was a door, and desired
him to enter it. He went in without the least suspicion, and
setting his foot upon a board which not being nailed at the
other end to the rafter on which it was laid, straight flew up,
and down they went together.

Heaven was so merciful to him, however, he got no harm,
though it was a great height, but was grievously daubed with
the filth, of which the place was full. Now, that you may bet-
ter understand this, and what followed also, I shall describe
the place to you. In a straight alley (as you see often be-
tween two houses), on some tracings reaching from one to the
other, were some boards laid, and a place to sit upon, and it
was one of these beards that fell down with him. Finding
himself now at the bottom, he called in great distress to the
boy ; but he, the moment he heard him fall, ran to tell his
mistress, who hastened to his chamber, to see if his clothes
w;ere there, and finding both them and the money, which he,
out of a foolish mistrust, always carried about him (and for
the sake of v/hich she had laid this snare, pretending to have
been of Palermo, and the sister of this Perugian), she took no far-
ther care, but made the door fast, out of which he passed, when
he fell. Finding the boy made no answer, he called out louder,
but to no purpose ; and now perceiving the trick when it was
too late, he climbed up the wall which parted that place from
the street, and getting down from thence, he came again to the
door, which he knew full well ; there did he knock and call
in vain for a long time ; lamenting much, and seeing plainly
his calamity ; " Alas ! (quoth he) in how little a time have I
lost five hundred florins, and a sister beside !"

And using many other words, he now began to batter the
door, and call out aloud ; and he continued doing so, till he
raised many of the neighbours, and among the rest, one of the

88 SECOND DAY.

women where he had been, pretending to he half asleep, opened
the casement, and called out, " Who makes that noise
there ?"

" Oh !" cried he "don't you know me, I am Andreuccio,
brother to Madam Fiordaliso;" when she replied, "Prithee,
honest fellow, ifthou hast had too much liquor, get thee to bed,
and come to-morrow. I know nothing of Andreuccio, nor what
thy idle tale means; but go about thy business (I say once
again) and let us rest." — " What! (said he,) don't you know
what I say I You know well enough, if you will: but if our
Sicilian relationship he so soon forgotten, give me my clothes
which [left with you, ami I'll go with all my heart." She then
replied, with a sneer, "The man is in a dream ;" and shut the
window at the same time.

Andreuccio, convinced of his loss, through his great grief be-
came outrageous ; and resolving to recover by force, what he
could not by fair words, took a great stone, and heat against the
door harder than ever; which many of the neighbours hearing,
who had been awaked before, and supposing that he was some
spiteful fellow, that did this to annoy the woman, and pro-
voked at the noise which he made; they called out, one and
all (in like manner as dogs all join in barking at a stranger),
" It is a shameful thing to come to a woman's house at this
time of night, with thy idle stories: get thee away in God's
name, and let us sleep ; and if thou hast any business with
her, come to-morrow, and do not disturb us now." Encou-
raged perhaps by these last words., a bully in the house, whom
he had neither seen nor heard of, came to the window, and
with a most rough and terrible voice, called out, " Who is that
below?" Andreuccio, raising up his head at this, beheld an
ill looking rascal, with a great black beard, yawning and rub-
bing his eyes, as if he was just risen from bed, and was awaked
out of his sleep. He made answer, therefore, not without a
good deal of fear, " I am brother to the lady within:" but the
other (never waiting to let him make an end of his speech)
replied, " I'll come down and beat thee, until thou canst
not stand, for a troublesome drunken beast as thou art, dis-
turbing every body's rest in this manner;" and he ciapt to
the window.

Hereupon some of the neighbours, who knew more of the
fellow's disposition and character, called out softly to An-
dreuccio, and said, " For Heaven's sake, honest man, go away,
unless thou hast a mind to lose thy life ; it will be much the
best for thee." Terrified therefore with his voice ami aspect,
and persuaded also by these people, who seemed to speak out
of mere good will, Andreuccio, quite cast down, and out of all
hopes of receiving his money, now directed his course to-
wards that part of the city, from whence he had been li d by
the girl the day before, (without knowing whither he was going)

NOVEL V. 89

in order to get to his inn. But being offensive to himself, on
account of the scent he carried about him, and desirous of
washing in the sea, he turned to the left, through a street call-
ed Catalana, and went towards the highest part of the city,
where he saw two people coming with a lantern, (and fearing
that they were the watch, or some ill-disposed persons) step-
ped into an old house that was near to hide himself. It hap-
pened that these people were going into the very same place ;
and one of them having laid aown some iron tools there, which
he carried upon his neck, they had some discourse together
about them. And as they were talking, said one to the other,
"There is the most confounded stink (whatever be the meaning
of it) that ever I smelt in my life." When" holding up the
lantern, they saw wretched Andreuccio, and, in a good deal
of amaze, demanded who he was ? He made no answer ; and
drawing nearer with the light they asked what he did there in
that condition ? He then related to them his whole adven-
ture ; and they, easily imagining the place where the thing
had happened, said to one another. "This must certainly have
been in the house of Scarabon Firebrand ;" and then, turning
towards him, proceeded thus : "Honest man, you ought to be
very thankful that you fell down, and could not return into
the house, for otherwise you would certainly have been mur-
dered as soon as ever you went to sleep, and so have lost your
life as well as your money. But what signifies lamenting? You
may as soon pluck a star out of the firmament, as recover one
farthing ; nay, you may chance to be killed, should the man
hear that you make any words about it."

Having admonished him in this manner, they said, " See,
we have pity on you, and if you will engage in a certain af-
fair with us, which we are now about, we are very sure that
your share will amount to more than you have lost." He
like a person in despair, told them he was willing. — That day
was buried the Archbishop of Naples, whose name was Signer
Phillippo Minutolo, in rich pontifical robes, and with a ruby
on his finger worth upwards of five hundred florins of gold,
whom they proposed to strip and rifle; and they acquainted
him with their intention. He then, more covetous than wise,
went along with them ; and, as they were going towards the
cathedral, he smelt so strong, that one said to the other,
" Can we contrive no way to wash this man a littje, to make
him sweeter?" And the other made answer, "We are not
far from a well, where there are usually a pulley and a great
bucket ; let us go thither, and we may make him clean in
an instant." Coming there, they found the rope, but the
bucket was taken away ; they therefore agreed to tie him
to the rope, and to put him dowrf into the well, and when he
had well washed himself, he was to shake the rope, and they
would draw him up. Now it happened that after they had let

90 SECOND DAY.

liim down, some of the watch, being thirsty with the heat of
the weather, and having been in pursuit of some persons,
came to that well to drink, and as soon as the two men saw
them, they took to their heels ; the watch however saw
nothing of them. Andreuccio now having washed himself
at the bottom of the well, began to shake the rope; they there-
fore laid down their clothes and halberds upon the ground,
and began to draw the rope, thinking the bucket was fastened
thereto, and full of water: and when he found himself at the
top, he let go the rope, and clung fast to the edge of the
well. They immediately threw down the rope on seeing him,
and ran away, frighted out of their wits ; which greatly sur-
prised him ; and had he not held fast, he had fallen to the
bottom, and perhaps lost his life. Getting out in this man-
ner, and beholding their weapons, which he knew belonged
not to his companions, he wondered the more ; and being in
doubt what the meaning of it could be, he went away without
touching anything, lamenting his fate, and not knowing whi-
ther. As he was walking along, he met with his companions,
who returned to help him out of the well ; and were surpris-
ed to see him, inquiring of him who had helped him out.
He replied, that he could not tell them ; and related the
whole affair, and what he had found by the well side : upon
which they perceived how it happened, and laughing heartily,
they acquainted him with the reason of their running away,
and who they were that had drawn him up. Without making
more words, it being now midnight, they went to the great
church, into which they found an easy admittance, and
passed directly to the tomb, which was of marble, and very
magnificent; and with their levers raised up the cover, which
was very heavy, so high that a man might go under, and
propped it; which being done, said one, "Who shall go
in?" — " Not I," cried the other, "but Andreuccio shall." —
"I will not go in," quoth Andreuccio; then they both turned
towards him, and said, "What! won't you go in? We will
beat your brains out this moment, if you don't." Terrified
at their threats, he consented, and being now within, he
be^fan to consider with himself in this manner: "These fel-
lows have certainly forced me in here to deceive me, and there-
fore, when I have given them every thing, and am endeavour-
ing to get out again, they will certainly run away, and I shall
be left destitute." For which reason he resolved to make
sure of his part, beforehand ; and remembering the ring of
value which he had heard them speak of, as soon as ever he
got into the vault, he took it off the archbishop's finger, and
secured it, giving them afterwards the pastoral staff, mitre,
and gloves, and stripping him to his shirt, he told them there
was nothing else. Hut they affirming that there was a ring,
bid him seek every where lor it, whilst he assured them that

NOVEL v. m

he could no where find it, and pretending to look carefully
about, he kept them some time waiting for him : at length
they, who were fully as cunning as himself, calling to him to
search diligently, suddenly drew away the prop which supported
the cover, and left him shut up in the vault. Which, when he
perceived, you may easily suppose what condition he was in.
Many a time did he endeavour with his head and shoulders to
raise it up, but in vain; till, overcome with grief, he fell down
at last upon the dead body ; and whoever had seen him at that
time, could scarcely have said, whether there was more life in
one than the other. But when he came to himself he lamented
most bitterly, seeing that he was now brought to the necessity
of one of these two evils, namely to die there with hunger, and
the stench of the dead carcass, if no one came to help him out ;
or, if that should happen, and he be delivered, in that case to
be hanged for a thief. As he was in this perplexity, he heard the
noise of many persons in the church, whom he supposed
were come to do what he and his companions had been about,
which added greatly to his fear : but after they had raised up
the lid and propped it, a dispute arose which should go in ;
and none caring to do it, after a long contest, said a priest,
" What are you afraid of ? Do you think he will eat you?
Dead men cannot bite ; I will go in myself." And im-
mediately clapping his breast to the edge of the vault, he at-
tempted to slide down with his feet foremost ; which Andreuc-
cio perceiving, and standing up he caught fast held ef one of
his legs, as if he meant to pull him in. The priest upon this
making a most terrible outcry, got out immediately ; and the
rest being equally terrified, ran away, leaving the vault open,
as if they had been pursued by a hundred thousand devils.
Andreuccio, little expecting this good fortune, got out of the
vault, and so out of the church, the same way he came in. And
now daylight began to appear, he wandered with the ring on
his finger he knew not whither, till, coming to the sea-side, he
found the way leading to his inn : there he met with his com-
panions and his landlord, who had been in pain all that night
for him ; and having related to them all that had passed he
was advised to get out of Naples with all speed ; with which he
instantly complied, and returned to Perugia, having laid out
his money on a ring, whereas the intent of his journey was to
have bought horses.

92

THE SECOND DAY

NOVEL VI.

Madam Beritola was found on an island ivith two goats, having
lost her two sons, arid went from thence to Lunigiana, where one
of her suns became servant to the lord thereof: and being found
with his daughter, was by him sent to prison : afterivards, when
the country of Sicily rebelled against King Charles, that same
son ivas known again by his mother, and was married to his
master's daughter ; and his brother being found likewise, they
both returned to great estate and credit.

The ladies and gentlemen were much diverted with the adven-
tures that befel Andreuccio, as related by Flammetta ; when
Emilia, perceiving the story to be at an end, began, by the
queen's order in this manner :

Very great and grievous are the changes of fortune, which,
as often as we discourse of, so often do they rouse and awaken
our understandings, which are but too easily enchanted by
her flatteries ; and I am persuaded, that to hear them recounted
must be agreeable both to such as are happy, and such as are
miserable ; inasmuch as it is a caution to the former, and af-
fords matter of comfort to the latter. Wherefore, though great
things have been already treated of, yet do I purpose to relate
a story no less true than lamentable ; which, though it ended
well, yet such and so many were the bitter thwartings, that
one would scarcely imagine they could ever be sweetened by
any subsequent joy.

You must understand, then that after the death of the Em-
peror Frederick II. Manfrediwas crowned king of Sicily ; with
whom lived, in great favour, a Neapolitan gentleman, whose
name was Arrighetto Capece, and who had, for his wife, a
most beautiful and worthy lady of Naples, called Beritola Ca-
racciola. This gentleman having the government of the island
in his hands, and understanding that King Charles l.had gain-
ed the battle of Benevtnto, and slain Manfredi, finding also

NOVEL VI. 93

that the whole kingdom had revolted to the conqueror, and
reposing but little trust in the scanty faith of the Sicilians, nor
being willing to become a subject to the enemy of his former
master, he prepared secretly to leave the place ; which being dis-
covered by the inhabitants, he and many others of Manfredi's
friends and servants were deliverd up prisoners to King Charles,
who took possession also of the island. In such a sudden change
of affairs, Madam Beritola, not knowing what was become of
her husband, and fearful of what was already come to pass, to
avoid reproach, left every thing behind her, and taking only a
child of eight years old, called Goffredi, and being with child
of another, she embarked, in the utmost distress, in a little
vessel, for Lipari : there she brought forth another son, wbom
she called Scacciato, or the Expelled, and having provided a
nurse, they went on board again with a design to return to her
relations at Naples. But it happened contrary to her expec-
tation : for the vessel, which was bound for Naples, was carried
by a contrary wind to the island of Ponzo : there, getting into
a little harbour, they waited for a more favourable season to
pursue their voyage : there they went on shore, and finding a
solitary place, she sat down all alone, to lament the fate of her
dear Arrighetto, and this she did every day ; whilst it happen-
ed in this meditaton one day, without any of the ship's crew
knowing where she was, they were surprised by a pirate ship,
and carried off. Madam Beritola, when' her daily lamentation
was ended, returned, as usual, to see her sons, and was surpri-
sed to find nobody : but suspecting what must have happened,
and casting her eye towards the sea, she saw the ship at no
great distance, dragging her little vessel after it ; on which
she plainly perceived that she had lost her children, as well as
her husband ; and seeing herself there poor and abandoned,
nor expecting ever to meet with any of them again, she fell
down in a swoon upon the shore calling upon her husband and
her children. There was no one near, either with cold water,
or any other means, to bring her to herself ; so that her spirits
might the more freely wander at their pleasure ; but when she
was a little recovered, then didlier tears and lamentations break
out afresh, whilst she called out for her children, and ran to
every cavern to find them ; till, perceiving at last it was all to
no purpose, and dark night drawing on, yet hoping still, with-
out knowng why, she began then to take some care of herself,
and leaving the sea shore, returned to the cave where she was
used to make her lamentation : she passed that night not
without infinite pain and grief ; and day-light appearing, she
who had eat nothing the evening before, being now pinched
with hunger, fed upon the green herbs as well as she could,
sadly reflecting on what would become of her the rest of her life :
whilst she was full of these melancholy reflections, she beheld
a goat enter a cave near her, and, after some little stay, come

94 SECOND DAY.

out again and go into the woods : upon which she arose and went
in where she saw the beast issue forth, and found two young
kids, yeaned perhaps that very day, which she thought at that
time the prettiest things in the world ; and having milk yet in
her breasts from her late delivery, she took them carefully, and
applied them to her bosom, and they sucked as naturally as if
she had been their mother, and from that time made no dis-
tinction between one and the other : and thus the lady think-
ing that she had now met with company in this solitary place,
feeding also on herbs, and drinking of water, and lamenting
her husband and children as often as she reflected on
her past life, became at length disposed to live and die there,
growing as familiar with the goat as with her offspring. By this
way of life becoming almost wild, it happened, in some months
that a vessel from Pisa arrived there by chance, and continued
many days, on board of which was a gentleman called Conrado
de'Malespini, with his most virtuous lady, who had been upon
a pilgrimage to visit all the holy places in Puglia, and were
now returning home ; when, to divert themselves, they went on
shore with their servants and some dogs, and being not far from
the place where Madam Beritola was, the dogs met with the
two kids, who being now large ones, were feeding abroad, and
as they were closely pursued, fled for refuge to her in the cave :
she arose on seeing this, and getting a stick, beat the dogs away :
in the mean while Conrado and his lady, who were following the
dogs, came upon her, and seeing her all swarthy, meagre, and
hairy, were greatly surprised, and she much more, at their ap-
pearance. When, by her entreaties, he had drawn his hounds
back, they desired she would acquaint them who she was, and
what she did there : whereupon she related to them all that had
happened to her, and her resolution to stay ; which, when Con-
rado had understood, who knew her husband very well, he was
moved with pity, and endeavoured by many arguments, to
draw her from her cruel design, making an offer either to send
her home, or to keep her at his own house in the same rank as
if she was his sister, where she might wait for better times.

When she would not comply with these kind proposals, he
left his wife with her, desiring that she would order victuals to
be brought, and let her put on some of her clothes, because her
- own were all ragged, and endeavour, by every possible means,
to bring her away. The lady continued with her, and lamented
her misfortunes, until the victuals and clothes were brought,
when she prevailed upon her to clothe herself, and to eat;
and after much entreaty, she declaring that she would never
go any more where she was known, persuaded her to depart
with them for Lunigiana, together with the two kids and goat,
which were now come back, shewing all tokens of joy to her,
to the great wonder of the lady. As soon as the weather was
favourable, Madam Beritola went on board with Conrado and

NOVEL VI. 95

his lady, being followed by the goat and kids ; and, because
she wished to be known by nobody else, she would be called,
by no other name than that of the Goatherdess. The wind
was favourable, and soon brought them into the river Magra,
where they got on shore, and went to their castle : there she
lived with Conrado's lady in a widow's dress, like a waiting-
woman, behaving herself with all obedience and humility, still
loving and nursing her goats. — Let us now return to the pi-
rates, who had seized upon the little bark at Ponzo, which
brought Beritola thither, and leaving her there, as having not
been seen by them, they carried the rest of the people away to
Genoa, where, when the booty came to he divided among the
owners of the ship, it happened that amongst other tilings the
nurse and two children fell to the share of one Guasparrino
d'Oria, who sent them to his own house, to be kept as ser-
vants. The nurse was exceedingly sorrowful at the luss of her
mistress, and the low state of life to which she saw herself and
the children now reduced, and wept for a considerable time;
but when she saw that tears were of no effect, and that they were
slaves together, poor as she was, yet was she wise and prudent,
and having comforted herself in the best manner she was able,
and considering their condition, she believed that if they were
known, it might turn to their disadvantage ; and hoping be-
sides that their affairs might take a new turn, and they regain
their former condition ; for this reason she determined to dis-
cover their names to nobody, unless she saw prdper time for it :
and she told every one who enquired about them, that they
were her sons, and the eldest she called not Goffredi, but Jean-
not di Procida ; as for the younger, she did not regard chang-
ing his name ; andshe told Goffredi frequently, the reason why
she had done so, and to what dangers he would be exposed
should he be knowry which the child, who was sensible
enough, carefully observed. They continued in the house of
Guasparrino many years, poorly clad, and worse shod, em-
ployed in the most servile offices, which they bore with great
patience : but Jeannot, now in his sixteenth year, and
having a spirit much beyond the condition of a servant, des-
pising the meanness of his station, he left Guasparrino, and
went on board the ships which were bound for Alexandria ; and
travelling afterwards into divers parts, could in no way advance
himself. In the end, about three or four years after his de-
parture from Guasparrino, being grown tall and comely in his
person, and having understood that his father, whom he thought
to have been dead, was yet alive, but kept in prison by King
Charles ; despairing now altogether of his fortune, he
wandered up and down as a vagabond, till he came to Lunigi-
ana, where by chance he became servant to Conrado de' Mal-
espini, and was much liked as such. He seldom saw his mother,

96

SECOND DAY

she being commonly with Conrado's wife, nor did he know her
any more than she recognised him ; so mucli had time altered
hoth, since they last saw one another. Living thus in the ser-
vice of Conrado, it happened that a daughter of his, whose name
was Spina, being the widow of one Nicholas de Grignano, re-
turned home to her father's; and being a very agreeable young
lady, and only sixteen years of age, soon cast her eyes on Jean-
not, and he on her, in such a manner that they hecame ena-
moured of each other ; which love of theirs was not long without
taking effect, and was carried on many months before it was dis-
covered. Tor which reason, growing too secure, they were now
not so cautious as they ought to have been in such an affair ;
and, as they were walking out one day into a pleasant grove,
well planted with trees, leaving the rest of their company be-
hind, they passed on before ; and supposing that the others
were far enough off, they made choice of a fine bed of flow-
ers for their amorous amusement Dallying there too long,
though the time seemed short to them, they were surprised
first by the mother, and afterwards by Conrado himself;
who, being grieved beyond measure, ordered three of his servants
to seize and carry them bound to a certain castle of his; re-
solving, out of his extreme rage and passion, to put them
both to a shameful death. The mother, though she was much
troubled, and thought her daughter worthy of punishment for
the crime she had committed, yet, perceiving what her hus-
band's intention was, she could not bear that he should pro-
ceed to such extremities, and begged that he would not, in
his old age, be so far hurried away with passion, as to mur-
der his own daughter, and to stain his hands with the blood
of a servant ; but rather shew his resentment in a different
manner, namely, by committing them to close imprisonment,
there to pine and lament the folly they had committed. By
these and other persuasions the good lady prevented his putting
them to death; and he now gave orders to have them sent to
separate prisons, where they should be well watched, and kept
with little food and great severity, till he should farther resolve
what to do with them. What their life now was in captivity
and continual tears, with more fasting than was needful for
them, any one may easily imagine. Jcannot and La Spina
remaining in this comfortless condition, and a whole year be-
ing spent without Conrado taking any farther notice of them,
it happened that Peter, king of Arragon, by means of John
di Procida, caused the island of Sicily to revolt, and gained
it from King Charles; on which account Conrado, who was
of the Ghibel line faction, made great rejoicings which Jcan-
not being informed of by some of his keepers, fetched a
deep sigh, and said : " Alas I for these fourteen years have I
been wandering through the world, waiting only for this event :
and now the thing is come to pass that 1 may be desti-

NOVEL VI. 97

tute of all hope, I am in prison, from which I never expect
to depart with life!" — "And what," said the keeper, " hast
thou to do with the affairs of princes ? Or what business hast
thou with Sicily I " When he replied, "My heart is fit to
hurst, when I call to mind the rank my father held there ;
for though I was but an infant when I fled from thence, I
can very well remember his being governor under King Man-
fredi. " — "And who was thy father, then ? " continued the
keeper. " My father," replied he, ** 1 may now safely discover,
since I now see myself out of all danger from such a discovery :
his name was, and is still, if he be living, Arrighetto Capece ;
and I am nor Jeannot, but GorTredi ; and I make no doubt,
if I was at liberty, but by returning to Sicily I might obtain
great promotion." The honest man, without asking any more
questions, reported all this, as soon as he had an opportunity,
to Conrado, who, seeming to the keeper to take no notice of
it, went directly to Madam Beritola, and inquired of her whe-
ther she ever had ason by Arrighetto, who was called GorTredi.
The lady replied, in tears, that if her eldest son was living,
he was so called, and was now twenty-two years of age. Con-
rado hearing this, immediately concluded it must be the same
person, anil if this should prove so, a method occurred how he
might at the same time shew mercy, and take away his daugh-
ter's disgrace and that of his family, by making her his wife :
he consequently called Jeannot secretly before him, and ex-
amined him particularly with respect to his past life; and
finding, by many manifest tokens, that he was truly Goffredi,
the son of Arrighetto Capece, he thus addressed him : " Jean-
not, you know how great an injury you have done me in the
person of my daughter ; for, as 1 always treated you well, you
ought to have considered my honour and interest in all things
as became a servant: many people there are who, had
they been used by you in this manner, would have put you
to an ignominious death, which my pity for you would not
permit. Wherefore, seeing, as you inform me, that you
are honourably descended both by father and mother, I will
put an end to your trouble, if you yourself are willing, and
releasing you from your captivity, restore at once both your
honour and my own. You know that my daughter
La Spina, whom, unluckily for you both, I found in dalliance
with you, is a widow, and of a good fortune : you are no
stranger either to her temper or family ; concerning your
own circumstances, at present, I shall say not a word.
Therefore I am disposed, if you are so inclined, that as
you have dishonourably made her your mistress, you now
make her honourably your wife ; and, accepting you for my
son, I give you leave to remain with me as long as you both
please." — Imprisonment had made great alteration in the
person of Jeannot ; but the greatness of mind which he

98 SECOND DAY.

possessed from his birth, was not at all impaired, any
more than the affection he still bore towards his mis-
tress : and though he most earnestly desired what Conrado
had now so frankly offered, and saw himself entirely in his
power, yet could he by no means dissemble what his brave
soul prompted him to speak on this occasion, and there-
fore he replied in this manner: u Sir. neither a desire of power,
a thirst or wealth, nor any other motive, could ever induce
me to plot like a traitor against your life or estate. I
have loved your daughter, do still, and always shall love
her, because I hold her worthy of it ; and if I have com-
mitted a crime, it is a crime inseparable from youth. Would
people but once call to mind that they have been young them-
selves, and compare our offences with their own, those offences
would appear less grievous. I have always wished for
what you now offer, and should have requested it long since,
could I have thought it would have been granted me ; it
is now the more pleasing, as it was less expected ; but if you
intend nothing of what you say, feed me no longer with expec-
tation, but rather send me back to my prison, where, use
me as you please, I shall always love and honour you for
her sake." Conrado was astonished at hearing this, and
esteeming him to be of a generous disposition, and fervent
in his affection towards the lady, he valued him the more ;
wherefore he raised him up, and embraced him, and with-
out more delay sent for his daughter : her confinement
had made pale and meagre, and quite a different person
from what she used to be : there by mutual consent, were
the espousals solemnized ; and after some days, without any
body knowing what was done, having furnished them with
every thing that was proper, and now thinking it a fit time
to please the two mothers, he called his own wife and
the Cioatherdess together, and to the latter he said, " What
would you say now, if I should shew you your eldest son
married to one of my daughters ? " She replied, " I can only
say this, that I shall think myself more obliged to you, if pos-
sible, than 1 am at present, as you will restore to me what
is dearer than my own life ; and by doing it in that manner
you will in some measure recall all my lost hopes ;" and wifrh
these words she began to weep. To his wife he then said,
" And what will you think if I shew you such a son-in-law I "
" Whether he be a gentleman or a peasant," answered she,
"if you like it I shall be pleased." — "Well," replied Conra-
do," " I hope in a few days to make you two happy women. "
When the young couple had in a measure recovered their
former looks, and had furnished themselves with suitable apparel
he one day asked Gotlredi, if it would not add greatly to his
joy could he have a sight of his mother' "1 cannot be-
lieve," replied he, " that her misfortunes have suffered her to

NOVEL VI. 99

live so long ; but if it should be so, nothing could be more
desirable; for by her assistance, I might reasonably expect to re-
cover my estate in Sicily." Conradothen sent for both the ladies
who expressed the utmost satisfaction at beholding the bride ;
wondering nevertheless what inspiration had guided Conrado to
this extraordinary courtesy in marrying her to Jeannot ; whilst
Beritola, considering what she had heard from Conrado, be-
gan to observe him very attentively ; and by a hidden virtue,
which had roused in her some resemblance of her son's fea-
tures in his infancy, without waiting for any other proofs, she
threw her arms about his neck, whilst excess of maternal joy
and pity denied her the power of utterance ; but, as if they
had locked up all her senses, she swooned away in his arms.
He, remembering to have seen her often in the castle without
knowing her, was all amazement ; yet now, by mere instinct
of nature, immediately called her to mind ; and blaming
himself for his long insensibility, embraced her in a most
tender and affectionate manner. Beritola had no sooner re-
covered her senses, by the help of Conrado's wife and daugh-
ter, who administered cold water and other necessary helps for
such purpose, but she again began to embrace her son, using
many kind and tender expressions full of maternal affection ;
he likewise expressing the same dutiful reverence to her.
These affectionate greetings were repeated over and over, to
the great joy of the beholders, whilst they recounted to each
other their several misfortunes ; and Conrado, having signified
to his friends, who heard it with great joy, the new alliance
made by him, and appointed a magnificent entertainment, suit-
able to the occasion, Goffredi addressed himself to him in the
following manner : " Sir, you have made me a happy man on
many accounts, and treated my mother always with the utmost
respect; wherefore, that nothing may be left undone which is
in your power to do, I humbly beg you would oblige my mother
and myself, and grace our entertainment with the presence
of my brother, who now lives as a servant in the house of
Signor Guasparrino d'Oria, who, as I told you before, took
us as a privateer ; and at the same time, that you would
also send a proper person to Sicily, to learn the state of the
country, and to inform himself concerning my father, whe-
ther he be alive or dead. If he be alive, then to know fully
in what state or condition he is, and to come afterwards to us,
and give us an account." The motion made by Goffredi was
so pleasing to Conrado, that without more delay he sent two
discreet persons, one to Genoa, and the other to Sicily :
he who went to Genoa, having met with Guasparrino, entreated
him, on the part of Conrado, to send him Scacciato, or the
Expelled, and his nurse, relating every thing that Conrado
had done with regard to Goffredi and his mother ; which, when
Guasparrino had heard, he was greatly surprised, and he re-

100 SECOND DAY.

plied: "True it is, that I am ready to oblige Signer Con -
ratio to the utmost of my power ; I have had such a hoy as you
speak of, and his mother, about fourteen years, whom I shall
willingly send him ; hut tell him from me not to he too hasty
in giving credit to what Jeannot shall say ( who calls himself
Goffredi) because he is a more wicked boy that he may ima-
gine." Having said this, and made the messenger welcome,
he sent privately for the nurse, ami questioned her about
the thing: who having heard of the rebellion in Sicily, and
understanding that Arrighetto was yet living, now laid all
fear aside, and told him every thing as it had happened,
and the reason for her acting in the manner she had done.
Gausparrino, finding the accounts which the nurse and mes-
senger gave to he entirely the same, began now to give credit
to it; and inquiring more narrowly into all the circumstances,
for he was a very cautious person, and finding them to fall
exactly right, he grew ashamed of himself for his vile treat-
ment of his captive, and to make him amends, since he knew
of what consequence his father had been, and now was, he
gave him his daughter in marriage, a beautiful young lady of
about eleven years of age, and with her a very large fortune.
The time of feasting being over, he went on board a galley,
well armed, taking with him his son and daughter, with the
messenger and nurse, and arrived at Lerici, where he was re-
ceived by Conrado, and conducted from thence, with all his
attendants, to a castle of his, which was at no great distance,
where a most noble banquet was prepared for them. Now as
to the joy of the mother in meeting again with her son : of the
two brethren in seeing one another ; and of all three, in be-
holding their faithful nurse ; as well as the satisfaction also
which was manifested by all towards Gausparrino and his
daughter, and by them again to the whole company,
and by the whole company to Conrado, his wife, children
and friends : this was beyond expression, and therefore
I refer it to your more able imagination. And that it
might be rendered still more complete, it pleased God, a
most liberal giver when he makes a beginning, to add the
good news of the life and prosperity oPAri ighetto Capece:
for even as they were feasting, and the concourse great, both
of lords and ladies, it chanced that the first course was scarcely
set upon the, table, before the messenger arrived who had
been dispatched to Sicily, and brought an account, amongst,
other things, concerning Arrighetto, that being closely con-
fined by king Charles, when the insurrection first began, in
the country, the people ran to the prison, and having slain
the guards, they set him at liberty, and appointed him their
leader, he being Charles's principal enemy; and under his
conduct they afterwards routed and slew many of the French,
on which account he became a great favourite with King Pe-

NOVEL VI. 101

ter, who had reinstated him in all his former possessions. The
messenger further announced that he was received with the
utmost joy by him, for the most welcome news, concerning his
wife and son, of whom he had not received the least intelli-
gence since he had been a prisoner ; and that he had sent a
yatch to bring them back, which was now at hand, with a great
number of gentry on board to bear them company. This was
most welcome news ; and Conrado immediately rose, with some
of his friends, and went to meet the gentlemen and ladies, who
were sent to Beritola and GofFredi, and after giving them a
most hearty welcome, he introduced them to the banquet,
which was not half over ; there they were beheld by the lady
and by Goffredi with such joy, that the like was scarcely ever
known ; and before they would sit down, they paid their com-
pliments on the part of Arrighetto in the best manner they were
able, both to Conrado and his lady, for the honour conferred
on his wife and son, as well as upon himself, with the offer of
anything that lay in his power for them to command. Turn-
ing also to Guasparrino, whose kindness came unlooked for,
they assured him, that as soon as Arrighetto knew what he had
done for the Expelled, similar acknowledgments would be
made to him. After which they sat cheerfully down with the
new-married people. Nor was it that day only that Conrado
feasted his son-in-law with all his relations and friends, but he
continued to do so for some time, till at length they desired to
depart ; and taking leave in a most affectionate manner of Con-
rado and his lady, and also of Guasparrino they went on ship-
board together ; namely, Beritola and the two new-married
couples, with their attendants ; and the wind proving fair, they
soon got to Sicily, where they were received by Arrighetto with
incredible joy ; and it is reported that they lived for a long
period together in the utmost felicity, with thankful hearts to
Heaven for the mercies received by them.

102

THE SECOND DAY.

NOVEL VII.

The Sultan of Babylon sends one of his daughters to be married
to the King of Algarve, who, by divers accidents in the space of
four years fell into the hands of nine different men in different

places. At length, being restored to her father, she went to the
King of Algarve as a maid, and, as at first she was intended, to
be his wife.

The novel related by Emilia did not perhaps extend itself so
i'ar in length, as it moved compassion in the hearts of the
young ladies for the accidents that had befallen Beritola, which
had caused them all to weep ; but it being now ended, the queen
ordered Pamphilus to follow, who, in obedience to her com-
mands, thus proceeded.

It is no easy matter for us, most gracious ladies, to have a
thorough knowledge of every thing we do : for we often find
many, supposing if they were rich that they should then live
securely and at ease, not only offer up their prayers to God, but
studiously incur all kinds of danger and fatigue to become so ;
which, when effected, has been the occasion of their losing
their lives by the hands of such people as have thirsted after
their wealth, who, before they Had attained to such riches, were
their entire friends : others, who from a low estate, have made
their way to a throne, amidst a thousand dangerous encounters,
and through the blood of their brethren and friends, expecting
to find supreme felicity therein, have, besides the infinite cares
and anxieties which they have experiencedin that station, found
to their cost, at last, that poison is often mingled in the golden
cups of princes. Many people there are who covet sonic bodily
accomplishments, as strength, beauty, &c. with which they who
are endowed are taught that death, or a most calamitous life,
j., often occasioned thereby. But because I would not speak of

NOVEL VII. 103

our frail desires, I dare affirm, that there is not one of them
which we can fix upon with any certainty of being happy by
that choice ; the safest way then is, to leave all to the good pro-
vidence of God, who best knows our wants, and is most able to
supply them. Men offend in coveting many things ; but you
ladies sin chiefly in one point, namely, in the desire of beauty ;
insomuch, that not being satisfied with that share , of it which
nature has given you, you call in the assistance of art, to im-
prove it. It is upon this account that I shall relate what hap-
pened to a beautiful Saracen lady, who, in the space of four
years, was, for her beauty married nine several times.

It is now a long time since there lived a Sultan of Babylon,
called Beminedab, who was fortunate in all his affairs. Amongst
other children, both male and female, he had a daughter named
Alathiel, who, in the opinion of all that saw her, was the fairest
lady in the whole world. And because the King of Algarve
had afforded him great assistance in a defeat occasioned to a
most numerous army of Arabians that had assailed him, and had
demanded her afterwards in marriage, he consented as a most
special favour : and providing a ship, well equipped for the pur-
pose, with all necessary provisions, and sending an honourable
train both of lords and ladies to bear her company, he com-
mended her to the protection of Heaven, and took his leave.
The sailors, as soon as a fit opportunity offered, hoisted their
sails, and leaving the port of Alexandria, sailed prosperously
many days ; when, having passed the island of Sardinia, and
now seeming to be near the end of their voyage, on a sudden,
contrary winds arose, which were so boisterous and bore so hard
upon the ship, that they often' gave themselves over for lost.
Nevertheless, for two days together they tried all the means
they could devise, amidst an infinite number of tempests to
weather it out ; but all to no purpose, for every blast was
worse than the former. And not being able to comprehend by
marinal judgment where they were, or to see to any distance
on account of the clouds and dark night, being now not far from
Majorca, they felt the ship split; and perceiving no hopes of
escaping, every one caring for himself only, they threw a
little boat into the sea, reposing more confidence of safety that
way than by abiding any longer in the broken ship. The men
therefore that were in the ship went into it one after another ;
although those who were first down made strong resistance
with their drawn weapons against other followers ; and think-
ing to avoid death by this means, they ran directly into it ; for
the boat, not being able to bear them all, sunk straight to the
bottom, and the people therein all perished. The ship being
driven furiously by the winds, though it was burst and half
full of water, was at last stranded near the island of Majorca,
no other person remaining on board but the lady and her wo-
men, all lying as it were lifeless, through the terror occasioned
by the tempest. It struck with such violence, that it was

104 SECOND DAY.

fixed upon the sand about a stone's throw from the shore ;
where it continued all that night, the winds not being able to
move it. When day-light appeared, and the storm was some-
thing abated, the lady almost dead, lifted up her head, and be-
gan, weak, as she was, to call first one and then another of her
servants ; but all to no purpose, for such as she called for, were
far enough from her: wherefore, receiving no answer, and see-
ing no one, Bhe was greatly astonished : and raising herself up
as well as she could, she beheld the ladies that were of her
company, and some other of her women, lying all about her ;
and trying first to rouse one, and then another of them, she
scarceiy found any that had the least understanding left; so
much had sickness and fear together affected them, which
added greatly to her consternation. Nevertheless necessity
constraining her, seeing that she was alone she knew not where,
she shook those that were living till she made them get up, and
perceiving that they were utterly ignorant of what was become
of all the men, and seeing the ship driven upon the sands,
and full of water, she began with them to lament most griev-
ously. It was noon-day before they could descry any person
from on shore, or elsewhere, to afford them the least assist-
ance. At length, about that time, a gentleman, whose name
was Pericon da Visalgo, passing that way, with many of his
servants, on horseback, upon seeing the ship, imagined what
had happened, and immediately sent one of them on board,
to see what was remaining in her. The servant got into the
ship with some difficulty, and found the lady with the little
company that was left her, who had all hidden themselves,
through fear under the deck of the ship. As soon as they saw
him, they begged for mercy; but not understanding each
other, they endeavoured, by signs to inform him of their mis-
fortune. The servant carried the best account he could to his
master of what he had seen ; who ordered the ladies, and every
thing that was in the ship of any value, to be brought on shore,
conducting them to one of his castles, where he endeavoured
to comfort them under their misfortunes by this generous en-
tertainment. By the richness of her dress, he supposed her to
be some person of great consequence, which appeared more
plainly by the great respect that was paid to her by all the
women: and although she was pale and in disorder, through
the great fatigue she had sustained, yet was he much taken
with her beauty: and he resolved, if she had no husband,
to make her his wife ; or if he could not have her as such,
still not to lose her entirely. Pericon was a man of stern
looks, and rough in his person ; and having treated the
lady well for some time, by which means she had recovered
her beauty, be was grieved that they could not understand each
other, and that he was unable to learn who she was ; yet being
passionately in love, he used all the engaging arts he could de-
vise to bring her to a compliance, but all to no purpose; she

NOVEL VII. 105

refused all familiarities with him, which inflamed him the
more. This the lady perceived, and finding after some stay
there, by the custom of the place, that she was among Chris-
tians, and where if she came to be known, it would be of no
great service to her ; supposing also, that at last Pericon would
gain his will, if not by fair means, yet by force ; she resolved
with a true greatness of spirit, to tread ail misfortune under
foot, commanding her women, of whom she had^but three now
alive, never to disclose her quality, unless there should' be
hopes of regaining their liberty ; recommending it farther to
them to maintain their chastity and declaring her fixed reso-
lution never to comply with any one besides her husband; for
which they all commended her, promising to preserve their
honour as she had commanded them. Every day did his pas-
sion increase so much the more as the thing desired was more
near, and yet more difficult to be obtained: wherefore perceiv-
ing that entreaty was to no purpose, he resolved to try what art and
contrivance could do, reserving force to the last. And hav-
ing once observed that wine was pleasing to her, not having
been accustomed to it, as being forbidden by her country's law,
he determined to surprise her by means of this minister of Ve-
nus. And seeming now to have given over his amorous pur-
suit, which she had used her best endeavours to withstand,
he provided one night an elegant entertainment, at which she was
present, when he gave it in charge to the servant that waited
upon her, to serve her with several wines mingled together,
which he accordingly did ; whilst she, suspecting no such trea-
chery and pleased with the rich flavour of the wine, drank
more than suited with her modesty, and forgetting all her past
troubles became gay and merry ; so that, seeing some wo-
men dance after the custom of Majorca, she also began to dance
after the manner of the Alexandrians ; which when Pericon ob-
served, he supposed himself in a fair way of success, and ply-
ing her still with more wine, continued this revelling the great-
est part of the night. At length, when the guests departed, he
went with the lady into her chamber, who having at that time
more wine than modesty, undressed herself before him, as if he
had been one of her women, and got into bed. He instantly
followed, and accomplished his purpose. They afterwards co-
habited together without any reserve, till at length fortune, un-
willing that she who was to have been the wife of a king,
should become the mistress of a nobleman, prepared for her a
more barbarous and cruel alliance. Pericon had a brother,
twenty-five years of age, of a most complete person, called
Marato ; who having seen her, and flattering himself, from
her behaviour towards him that he was not displeasing to her ;
supposing also that nothing obstructed his happiness, except
the guard which his brother had over her ; he consequently
contrived a most cruel design, which was not long without its

106 SE( OND DAY.

wicked effect. There was by chance a ship in the haven at that
time laden with merchandise bound forCniarenza in Romania,
of which two young Genoese were the masters, who only wait-
ed for the first fair wind to go out: with them Marato made a
contract, to receive him with the lady the following night
When night came, baring ordered how the thing should be ma-
naged, he went openly to the house, nobody having the hast
mistrust of him, taking with him SOfDC trusty friends, whom he
had secured for thai service, and concealed them near tlu hous. :

iii the middle of the night, therefore, he opened the door to

them, and they slew PericOD as he was asleep in bed with the

lady; seizing upon her, whom they found awake and in tears,

and' threatening to kill her if she made the least noise. They

took also everything of value that belonged to Pericon, with
which Marato and the lady went instantly on board, whilst
his companions returned about their business. The wind
proving fair they soon set sail, whilst the lady reflecting
on both lur misfortunes, seemed to lay them much to heart
for a time: till being over persuaded by Marato, she began to
have the same affection for him that she had entertained for his
brother; when fortune, as if not content with what she had al-
ready Buffered, prepared another change of life for her. Her
person and behaviour were such, as to enamour the two masters
of the ship, who neglected#all other business to serve and please
her; taking care all the while that Marato should have no
cause to suspect it. And being apprised of each other's love,
they had a consultation together about it, when it was agreed
to have her in common between them, as if love, like merchan-
dize, admitted of partnership ; and observing that she was nar-
rowly watched by Marato, and their design thereby frustrated,
they took the opportunity one day, as the ship was under full
Bail, and he standing upon the stern looking towards the sea,
to go behind and throw him over-board; whilst the ship had
sailed on a full mile before it was known that he had fallen in ;
as soon as the lady heard of it, and saw no likely means of re-
coverinj him again, she fell into fresh troubles, when the two
lovers came quickly to comfort her, using many kind ami ten-
der expressions, which she did not understand; though indeed
she did not then so much lament Marato as her own private
misfortunes. After some little time, imagining that she was
sufficiently comforted, they fell into a dispute together which
should have the first enjoyment of her; and from words they
drew their swords, and came to blows, the ship's crew not being
able to part tlicm, when one soon fell down dead, the other being

desperately wounded; which occasioned fresh uneasiness to the

lady, who now saw berselflefl alone, without any one to advise
and help her; she was fearful also of the resentment of the two
masters' relations and friends; but the entreaties of the woun-
ded -survivor, ami iheir speedy arrival at Chiarcnzo, saved her

NOVEL VII. 107

from the danger of death. She went on shore with him there,
and they continued together at an inn ; whilst the fame of her
beauty was spread all over the city, till it reached the ears of
the Prince of Morea, who was then by chance at Chiarenza.
He was impatient to get a sight of her ; and after he had seen
her, was so charmed that he could think of nothing else;
and being told in what manner she came hither, he began to
contrive means how to obtain her ; which when the man's re-
lations understood, they immediately sent her to him, to her
great joy, no less than the prince's, now thinking herself freed
from all danger. The prince perceiving her rare accomplish-
ments, joined to a matchless person, though he could have no
information concerning her, yet concluded that she must be
nobly descended ; and such was his fondness for her, that he
treated her not as a mistress but a wife. She now recollect-
ing what she had already suffered, and being pretty well satisfied
with her present situation, began to be easy and cheerful, whilst
her charms increased to that degree, that she was the chief
subject of discourse throughout Romania. Hereupon the
Duke of Athens, a young and gay person, a relation also to the
prince, had a mind to see her ; and came one day hither under
pretence of a visit to him, as usual, with a noble retinue, when
he was handsomely entertained. Talking together, after some
time, concerning the lady's great beauty ; the duke asked whe-
ther she was such as fame had reported ; to which the prince
replied, "she far exceeds it; but let your own eyes convince you,
and not my bare assertion." The duke soliciting the prince
very earnestly to gratify his curiosity, they went into her apart-
ment together, when she received them with great good man-
ners and cheerfulness, being apprised of their coming; and
though they could not have the pleasure of conversing'together,
as she understood little or nothing of their language, yet they
looked upon her, the duke more especially,- as a prodigy of na-
ture, scarcely believing her to be a mortal creature ; and with
out perceiving how much of the amorous poison he had taken
in by intently gazing upon her, and meaning only to gratify
himself with the sight of her, he soon became over head and
ears in love. After they had parted from her, and he had
time to reflect, he began to think the prince the happiest per-
son in the universe, in being possessed of such a beauty ; and
after much musing upon it, having more regard to his lust than
to his honour, he resolved at all adventures to deprive him of
that bliss, and to secure it for himself: and having a heart to
put what he had resolved into execution, setting all reason and
justice aside, his mind was wholly taken up in devising a fit
stratagem for his purpose. One day therefore, according to a
most wicked agreement, which he had made with a valet de
chambve belonging to the prince, whose name was Ciuriaci, he
gave secret orders to have bis horses and things got ready for a

108 SECOND DAY.

■udden departure ; ami the following night, taking a friend
with him, ami being both compli t« Ij armed, they were intr.i-
duced livtii.it Bervant into the prince's chamber, whom they
found in his shirt, looking oul of a window towards the
t ike the cool air, the Breath r being eery h<»t, whilst the lad} was

(sleep. Having then instructed his friend what be would
have done; he went Boftly up to the window, and stabbed bira
with a dagger through the small ol his back, and threw him
out Now the palace was seated upon the sea-shore and very
lofty; and the window at which the prince st< od looking from,
was directly over some houses, winch the foree of the waves
had beaten down, and which were but little frequented; on
which account, as the duke had before contrived it, there was
no great likelihood of its being discovered. '1 be duke's com-
panion when he saw that was over, took a cord whieh he car-
ried with him lor th.it purpose, and se< miug as if hewas going
to caress Ciuriaci, threw it ahout his neck, and drew it so tight
that he prevented his crying out, whilst the duke came to his
assistance, and they soon despatched, and threw him down alter
the prince. This being done, and plainly perceiving that
they were not heard or seen hy the lady, or any one else, the
duke took a light in his hand, and went on softly to the Led,
where she lay in a sound sleep, and he stood beholding her for
sonic time with the utmost admiration; and if she appeared so
charming before in her clothes, what was she not without them {
Not at alPdismayed with his late committed sin, his hands
yet reeking with blood, lie crept into bed to her, she taking
him all the while for the prince. —After he had been with her
for some time, he ordered his people to seize her in such a
manner that she could make no outcry: and going through the
same back door at which be had been introduced, he set heron
horseback, and carried her away towards Athens. But, as he
was married, be did not chose to bring her thither, but left
her at one ol his country seats, a little way cut of town, where

retly kept her, to her great grief; allowing her, in a
most genteel maim r, ever) tiling that was necessary. The
prince's servants waited till nine o'clock that morning, expec-
ting his rising; but hearing nothing of him, and thrusting open
the chamber doors, which were only closed, and finding nobody
within, they concluded that he and the lady were gone pri-
vately to some other place to divert themselves for a lew days,
and therefore thought no more about the matter. The next
day it happened, by great chance, that a fool going aim'
those ruinous houses when' the dead bodies were lying, took

hold of the cord that was about Ciuriaci 's neck, and dra i d
him along alt. r him : which surprised many people to whom he
was known; who, by fair words and much persuasion, pre-
vailed upon the fellow to shew them where he had found him:
and there, to the great grief of th< •>•■> the

NOVEL VII. 109

prince's body also, which they caused to be interred with all
due pomp and reverence. Inquiring afterwards who should
commit so horrid a deed, and perceiving; that the Duke of
Athens was not to be found, but was gone privately away, they
judged (as it really was) that he had done it, and taken the
lady with him. Immediately they elected the prince's brother
to be their sovereign, inciting him to revenge so horrid a fact,
and promising to assist him to the utmost of their power. He
being afterwards fully assured of the truth of what they had
but before surmised, collected together alibis relations, friends,
and vassals, and mustering a powerful army, directed his course
against the duke : who had no sooner heard of these prepara-
tions, but he also levied a great army, and many princes came
to his relief. Amongst the rest, Constantius, son to the Em-
peror of Constantinople, and Emanuel the nephew, attended
by a goodly body of troops, who were kindly received by the
duke and the duchess more especially, being their sister-in-
law. Things tending every day more and more to a war, the
duchess had them both one day into her chamber, when, with
abundance of tears, she recounted to them the whole history and
occasion of the war, and the ill-usage she had received from
the duke on account of this woman, whom she imagined he
kept privately; and complaining very earnestly to them, she
conjured them, for his honour, and her own ease and comfort,
to give her their best assistance. The two young lords knew
all this matter before, and therefore, without asking many ques-
tions, they comforted her as well as they could, and inform-
ing themselves where the lady was kept they took leave.
Hearing much talk of her beauty, they became very desirous
of seeing hex', and entreated the duke to shew her to them ;
who, never remembering what had happened to the prince,
promised to do so ; and ordering a magnificent entertainment
to be prepared in a pleasant garden belonging to the palace
where the lady was kept, the next day he took them, and some
more friends, to dine with her. Constantius, being seated at
the table, began full of admiration to gaze 'upon her, declar-
ing to himself that he had never seen any thing like her, and
that the duke, or any other person wfas excusable, who, to pos-
sess so rare a beauty, should commit any act of baseness or
treason : and looking still more and more upon her, and ever-
more commending her, it happened just to him as) it had
done to the duke ; for going away quite enamoured of her, he
had given over all thoughts of the war, contriving only howr to
steal her away from the duke, at the same time that he con-
cealed his love from every one. Whilst he was in this agita-
tion, the time came when they were to march against the prince,
who was now advancing near the duke's territories ; upon which
the duke, with Constantius and the rest, according to the re-
solution that was taken, marched out of Athens to secure the

L

110 SEt OND DAY.

frontiers, and to prevent the prince's passing any further.
Continuing there For Borne days, and Constantius having Mill
the lady at In art, and concluding, now the duke was absent ;
that he might more easily compass his intent, he, that there
might be a pretence lor his return, feigned himself extremely
sick ; and, with the duke's consent, leaving the command of
his troops to Emanuel, he returned t<> Athens to his sister's,
where, after having encouraged her to talk of her husband's
baseness in keeping a mistress, he atlast said, that if she would
give her consent, he would rid her of that trouble, by removing
the lady out of the way. The duchess, supposing that this was
spoken out of pure regard to her, and nut to the lady, replied,
that she should be very glad if it could he dune in such a man-
ner as the duke should never know that she was in any way ac-
iry; which Constantius fully promised, and she according-
ly agreed that he should do.it as he thought most advisable,
lie provided therefore with all secrecy, a light vessel, and sent
it one evening near to the garden where the lid) was kept, ha-
ving first informed some of his people that were in it, what
he would have them do; and taking others witli him to "the
house, he was kindly received by the servants in waiting there,
and by the lady also herself, who took a walk with him at his
request, attended by the servants belonging to them both, into
the garden; when, drawing her aside towards a door which
opened to the sea, as if he had business to communicate from
the duke, on a signal given, the bark was brought close to
the shore, and she seized upon and carried into it, whilst he,
turning back to the people that were with her, said — " Let no
one stir or speak a word at the peril of their lives ; for my de-
sign is not to rob the duke of his lady, but to take away the re-
proach of my sister." To this none being hardy enough to
return an answer, Constantius, boarding the vessel, bid the
men ply their oars, and make the best of their way. which
they accordingly did, so that they reached Kgina by the next
morning. There they landed, and reposed himself awhile
with her, who had great reason to curse her beauty. Prom
thence they went to Chios, where, for fear of his father, and to
prevent her being taken away'from him, he chose to abide as a
place of security: and though she seemed uneasy for a time,
yet she soon recovered, as she had done before, and became
better reconciled to the state of life wherein bad fortune had
thrown her. In the mean time Osbech, king of the Turks who
was constantly at war with the emperor, came by chance to
Smyrna, and hearing how Constantius lived a lascivious life at
Chios, with a mistress that he had stolen, and no provision
made for his safety, he went privately one night with sonic
armed vessels, and made a descent, surprising many people
in their beds before they knew of his coining upon them, and
killing ail that Stood upon their d ad after he had

NOVEL VII. Ill

burnt aad destroyed the whole country, he put the prisoners
and booty which he had taken on board, and returned to
Smyrna. Upon taking a view of the prisoners, Osbech who
was a young man, saw this lady, and knowing that she was
Constantius's mistress, because she wTas found asleep in his
bed, he was much pleased at it, and took her for his own wife,
and they lived together very happily for several months. Be-
fore this thing happened, the emperor had heen making a trea-
ty with Bassano king of Cappadocia, who was to fall on Osbech
on one side, whilst he attacked him on the other ; but they
could not come to a' full agreement, because Bassano made a
demand of some things which he was unwilling to grant ; yet
now, hearing of what had befallen his son, and being in the ut-
most concern, he immediately closed with the King of Cap-
padocia, requesting him to march with all expedition against
Osbech, whilst he was preparing to invade him on his part.
When Osbech heard of this, he assembled his army before he
should be surrounded by two such mighty princes, and marched
on to meet the king of Cappadocia, leaving his lady behind,
with a faithful servant of his at Smyrna: they soon came to a
battle, wherein his army was entirely routed, and himself slain.
Bassaro remaining victorious, he proceeded on to Smyrna, the
people making their submission to him all the way as he went.
But now Osbech 's servant, whose name was Antiochus, who
had the lady in charge, although he was in years, yet seeing her
so beautiful, and forgetting the regard which was due to his lord,
soon became in love with her himself; and as he understood
her language, it was a great comfort to her, because she had been
forced to live for some years like a deaf and dumb person, for
want of understanding other people, or being; understood by
them. This gave him great advantages, and whilst his master
was warring abroad, he spared no pains to gain her consent, in
which he succeeded : and when they understood thatOsbech was
slain, and that Bassano carried all before him, without waiting
for his coming upon them, they fled away privately, taking with
them what belonged to Osbech of any value, and came to
Rhodes. They had not been there long before he was taken ex-
tremely ill ; and having a merchant of Cyprus along with him,
who was his great friend, and finding himself at the point of
death, he resolved to bequeath to him the care of his lady
and wealth also ; and calling them both to him, be spoke as fol-
lows : — " I find myself declining apace, which grieves me
much, because I had never more pleasure in living than at
present ; yet one thing is a grsat comfort to me, viz. that 1
shall die in the arms of those two persons whom I love and
value beyond all the rest of the world ; namely, in yours my
dearest friend, and in that lady's, whom I have luved, ever since
I have known her, more than my own life. I am uneasy indeed,
when I consider that I leave her here a stranger, and desti-

112 SECOND DAY.

tute both of help and advice, and should be infinitely more so
if you were not with us, who I know, will take the same care
of her, on my account, as you would of myself; therefore 1
entreat you, in case I should die, to take my affairs and her
together, under your protection, and to act, with regard to
both, as you think will be most for the comfort of my departed
soul. — And you, my dearest love, let me beg of you never to
forget me, that I may boast in the next world, that 1 have been
beloved by the fairest lady] that ever nature formed; assure
me of these two things, and 1 shall die satisfied." The mer-
chant and lady were both much concerned, and promised
to fuliil his desires, if he should chance to die; and soon after-
wards he departed this life, when they took care to have hina
decently interred ; which being done, and the merchant having
dispatched all his affairs, and wanting to return home in a Cata-
lan ship that was there, questioned the lady, to know what she
intended to do, because it became necessary for him to go hack
to Cyprus: she made answer, that she was willing to go with
him, hoping that for the love he bore towards his friend, he
would regard her as his own sister. He replied, that he was
ready to oblige her in every thing; and that he might the bet-
ter defend her from all injuries whatever, till they came to ( \-
prus, she should rather call herself his wife. Being on board
the ship, they had a cabin and one little bed allotted them,
agreeable to the" account they had given of themselves, by
which means that thing was brought about, which neither of
them intended when they came from Rhodes; for they forget
all the fine promises they had made to Antiochus, and before
they reached Baffa, where the Cyprian merchant dwelt, they
began to consider themselves as man and wife. Now a certain
gentleman happened to arrive at Baffa about that time, on his
own private affairs, whose name was Antigonus, one advanced
in years, and of more understanding than wealth : for by med-
dling much in the affairs of the King of Cyprus, he had found
fortune very unkind to him. Passing one day by the house
where she lodged, the merchant being gone about his business
to Armenia, and seeing her by chance at the window, he took
more than ordinary notice of her, on account of her beauty ;
till at length he began to recollect he had seen her somewhere
before, but could by no means remember where. She alsc
who had long been the sport of fortune, the time now drawing
near when her sorrows were to have an end, as soon as she
saw Antigonus, remembered that she had seen him in no mean

.n in her father's service at Alexandria. And having now
great hopes of regaining her former dignity by his advice and
assistance, she took the opportunity of the merchant's absence

nd for him. Iking come to her, she modestly asked him
whether lie was not Antigonus of Faraagosta, as she really be-
liev.'d. He answered that he was, and added — " Madam, J

NOVEL VII. 113

am convinced that I know you, but I cannot call to mind where
it is that I have seen you : therefore, if it be no offence, let me
entreat you to tell me who you are." The lady, perceiving him
to be the same person, wept very much, and throwing her arms
about his neck, asked him at last, as one confounded with sur-
prise, if he had never seen her at Alexandria ? When he im-
mediately knew her to be Alathiel, the sultan's daughter,
whom they supposed to have been drowned ; and being about
to pay homage to her, she would not suffer him to do it, but
made him sit down. He then, in a most humble manner, ask-
ed her where she had been, and from whence she now came ;
because for some years it was believed through all Egypt, that
she was drowned. She replied, " I had much rather it had so
happened than to have led such a life as I have done ; and
I believe my father, if he knew it, would wish the same."
With these words the tears ran down her cheeks in great
abundance : and he replied, " Madam, do not afflict yourself
before it is necessary to do so ; tell me only what has hap-
pened to you ; perhaps it may be of such a nature, that by the
help of God, we may find a remedy. " — " Antigonus!" replied
the fair lady," I think when I see you that I behold my father:
moved therefore with the like duty and tenderness that I owe
to him, I shall reveal to you what I might have kept secret :
there are few persons that 1 should desire to meet with soon-
er than yourself to advise me ; if, therefore, when you have
heard my whole story, you think there is any probability of re-
storing me to my former dignity, I must beg your assistance :
if you think there is none, then I conjure you to tell no person
living that you have either seen or heard anything about me."
After which, shedding abundance of tears during the whole rela-
tion, she gave a full account of what had befallen her, from
the time of her shipwreck to that very hour. Antigonus shew-
ed himself truly concerned at what he had heard, and (think-
ing some little time about it) he said to her — " Madam, since
it has never been known, in all your misfortunes, who you
were, I will restore you to your father, to whom you shall be
more dear than ever, and afterwards you shall be married to
the King of Algarve." She inquiring how that could be brought
about, he let her know in what manner he intended to do it.
Therefore, that no delay might intervene to prevent it, he re-
turned directly to Famagosta, and waiting upon the king, he
thus addressed him : — " My liege, you may if you please, do
great honour to yourself, and service to me, who am impover-
ished on your account, and without any expense." The king
desiring to know by what means, Antigonus thus answered —
"A young lady is just come to Baffa, daughter to the sultan,
who was generally thought to have been drowned, and who to
preserve her honour, hath undergone great calamities, and is
now reduced, and desirous of returning to her father ; irj
L 2

Ill SECOND DAY.

therefore, you will be bo good as to send her home under my
conduct, it will redound greatly to your honour, and prove much
to my advantage, nor can the sultan ever forget the fav or."
'J he king moved by a truly royal spirit, replied, thathewai
well pierced with the proposal, and immediately sent in
State for her to FamagOSta, where she v.ns received with all
honour and respect both by him and the que* n ; and being ques-
tioned by them concerning her misfortunes, she made such
answers as she had heen before taught by Antigonus. In'a
few days afterwards, at her own re. pus:, she was sent with a
great retinue both of lords and ladies, and conducted all the
way by Antigonus to the sultan's court; where, with what
joy they wire all received, it is needless here to mention. When
they had rested awhile after their journey, the sultan became
desirous tu know how it happened thai she wi b now living' ; and
where she had heen .all this time, without his being ever aide
to hear a word ahout her. When she, who had all Antigonus's
lectures perfectly by heart, pave her father the following nar-
ration : "Sir, ahout twenty days after my departure from you,
our ship was split in the night by a violent tempest, and driven
on the western coasts; nor did 1 ever learn what befel the men
that were in it: I only rcmemher this, that when day-light ap-
peared, and I seemed recovered as it were, from death to life,
certain peasants of the country spying the ship's wn ck, came to
plunder it ; whilst I was carried first on shore with two of my
women, who were immediately home away by some young fel-
lows, and taken different ways, so that I could never learn what
became of either of them. I also# was seized by two of them,
making the best defence I could ; and as they were draggin *.,r
me towards the wood by the hair of my head, four persons on
horse-hack came riding by, when they immediately left me and
lied. But the gentlemen on horseback, who appeared to pos-
sess some authority, came to me, and we spoke to each other,
without knowing what either of US said. At last, after confer-
ring together, they set me upon one of their horses, and carried
me to a monastery of religious women, according to their laws,
where 1 was received with great honour and respect. And af-
ter 1 had been there for some time, and learnt a little of their
language, tiny began to ^inquire of me who 1 was, and from
whence I came; whilst I ('fearful of telling the truth, lest they
should have turned me out as an enemy to their religion) made
them believe that I was daughter to a gentleman of Cyprus,
who sending me to be married to one of Crete, we happened to

be driven thither by ill weather, and ship-wrecked: Com"
ing t<» their customs in many things, for fear of the worst, I was
aske 1, at length, by the chief among them, whom they call I. a j
kbbeas, whether 1 desired to return to Cyprus, and 1 answci-
e I, thai I desired nothing more. But she tender of my hon-
M >uld nevei trust me with any persons that were going to

NOVEL VII. 115

Cyprus, till about two months ago, certain French gentlemen
with their ladies came this way, one of whom was related to
the abbess ; who, understanding that they were going to visit
the holy sepulchre at Jerusalem, where he, whom they believe
to be God, was buried, after he had been put to death by the
Jews, recommended me to them, and desired that they would
deliver me to my father at Cyprus. What respect and civili-
ties I received both from the gentlemen and their ladies, would
be needless to mention. Accordingly we went on ship-board,
and came in a few days to Baffin, where, when I saw myself
arrived, a stranger to every person, nor knowing what to say to
these gentlemen, who were to present me to my father; behold
(by the great providence of God) whom should I meet with
upon the shore, but Antigonus, the very moment we were land-
ed. I called to him in our language (that none" of them
might understand us) and desired him to own me as his daugh-
ter. He easily understood my meaning, and shewing great
tokens of joy, entertained them as well as his narrow circum-
stances would allow, and brought me to the King of Cyprus,
who received and sent me hither, with such marks of respect as
I am no way able to relate : if there be any thing omitted
in this relation, Antigonus, who has often heard the whole from
me, will report it." Antigonus then turning to the sultan, said,
" My lord, according both to her own account, and the infor-
mation of the gentlemen and their wives, she has said nothing
but truth. One part only she has omitted, as not suiting with
her great modesty to report, namely what the gentlemen and
their ladies told me, of the most virtuous life that she had led
amongst those religious women, and their great concern at par-
ting; which, if I were fully to recount to you, would take up
both this day and night too. Let it suffice then that 1 have
said enough (according to what I could both hear and see)
to convince you that you have the fairest, as well as the most
virtuous daughter of any prince in the world." The sultan was
overjoyed with this relation; begging over and over, that
God would pour down his blessings on all who had shewed
favour to his daughter ; and particularly the King of Cyprus,
who had sent her home so respectfully : and having bestowed
great gifts upon Antigonus, he gave him leave to return to Cy-
prus ; sending letters, as also a special ambassador to the king,
to thank him on her account. And now, desiring that what he had
formerly proposed should take effect ; namely, that she should
be married to the King of Algarve; he wrote to give him a full
relation of the whole matter ; adding, that he should send for
her, if he desired the match to proceed. The king was much
pleased with the news, and sent in great state, and received her
as his queen: whilst she, who had passed through the hands of
eight men, now came to him as a pure virgin ; and lived hap-
pily with him the rest of their lives.

ia

THE SECOND DAY.

NOVEL VII

The Count o?Angiers, being falsely accused, was banished from
France, and left his two children in different parts of England.
Returning afterwards privately out of Ireland, he found them
st ttled in great repute ; from thence he goes as a common ser-
i tut into the King of /•'ranee's army and his innocence being
made public at last, he is restored tu his former dignity.

he ladies sighed very much upon hearing the various ac-
cidents that had befallen the fair lady ; hut who can say what
it was that gave occasion to those sighs? Perhaps there were
some ladies present who sighed more because they had not
been so often married as she, than out of any pity for the poor
woman. But he that as it will, having laughed much at
Pampbilus's conclusion, and the queen perceiving the story to
he now at an end, laid her next charge upon Eliza, who began
in this manner : —

We have chosen a most spacious held for the subject of this
daj ; nor is there a person among us who could not run ten
courses as well as one ; so copious are the great and wonder-
ful changes of fortune! And, therefore, amongst such an in-
finity of tilings, as 1 am to recount one, let it he as follows ■

When the Roman empire was translated from the French
to the Germans, an utter enmity and continued war arose be-
tween the two nations : wherefore the King of Trance and
his son, as well for the defence of their own kingdom, as the
annoyance of their adversaries, raised a great ami powerful
army, consisting of all their, kindred and allies, besides the
force of their own kingdom, to go against the enemy. But
before they Bet out upon their expedition, they chose not to
leave the state without a governor; and knowing Gualtier,

NOVEL VIII. 117

Count d' Anglers, to be a wise and worthy person, and one
entirely devoted to their interests, and also expert in military
affairs, although he seemed rather designed for a life of ease
and inactivity than martial toils, they made him viceroy du-
ring their absence, and then set forwards on their expedition.
The count began to execute his office with all due conduct
and discretion, on all occasions, with the queen and her
daughter-in-law ; and honouring them as his mistresses and
superiors, although they were left subject to his guidance and
authority. Now he had a very graceful person, was about
forty years of age, and as good-natured and agreeable as man
could be ; nor could the world shew a more complete gentleman
in all respects than himself. Whilst the king therefore and his
son were employed in the above-mentioned war, it happened,
that Gualtier's lady dying, and leaving him two children, a boy
and a girl, and he being much at the ladies' court,] consulting
with them on the affairs of the kingdom, that the king's son's
wife cast her eyes upon him, and in regard both to his person
and virtue became secretly in love. Considering herself to be
young, and he now a widower, she concluded that her desires
would be more readily gratified, and that nothing, obstructed
it but the shame of making the discovery, which she soon
overcame. Being one day alone, and thinking it a fit opportu-
nity, she sent for him, under pretence of other business.
The count, whose thoughts were quite different, came im-
mediately to her, and sitting down together upon a couch, he
inquired the reason of her sending for him at that time ; she
after some silence, incited at length by her passion, trembling
also and blushing with extreme shame, with words broken and
confused, declared her mind in this manner. " My dear lord
and friend,'it cannot have escaped your most acute judgment,
how great the frailty is of both the sexes, and for divers rea-
sons of one more than the other : therefore the very same offence,
before an equitable judge, will be differently punished accord-
ing to the different quality of the offenders. Besides, who
will not say that a poor man or woman, who have no other sub-
sistance but what they earn by their daily labour, are not more
blameable, should they be seduced and carried away by love,
than a lady of wealth and leisure, who has nothing to think of
but how to divert and please herself? Every one must allow it ;
this will be a sufficient excuse, therefore in such a case, for a
lady who gives way to such a passion, supposing her, at the
same time, to make choice of a wise and worthy person
on whom she fixes her affection. These circumstances, thus
concurring in myself, not to mention my youth and the
absence of my husband, plead strongly in my behalf, and
if they have their due weight with you, I may expect
that you will afford me that advice and assistance 1 now
require from you. I must confess, that not being able on

118 SECOND DAY.

account of my husband's [distance from me, to resist my
most earnest desires, living also a life of ease and indolence
as you see, I have suffered myself to be quite led aside
by them ; which, though it would redound but little to
my credit should it be known, yet so long as it is a secret
between us, there can be no room for reproach, and let me tell
you, that love has been so gracious to me, that far from taking
away my understanding, it has rather enlightened it, by pre-
senting you to me as an object worthy of my affection ; a person
whom 1 esteem as the most accomplished nobleman this day in
France, and one at present without a wife, as I am a husband ;
wherefore I entreat you, by the tender regard I have for you,
that you would vouchsafe to shew the same towards me, and
pity my youth which consumes for your sake, even as ice melts
before the fire." At these words the tears poured down her
cheeks so fast, that she was prevented from saying any thing
further ; therefore hanging down her head, and overcome as it
were with her lamentation, she reclined at length upon his bo-
som. The count being a person of the strictest honour, began
to reprimand her fond and idle love : and when she would
have thrown her arms round his neck, he pushed her from
him, protesting that he would be cut in pieces before he would
so wrong his lord and master himself, or suffer others to do
it. The lady hearing this, forgot the love she had for him,
and in a most vehement rage exclaimed, " Villain as thou
art, and shall my request be despised by thee in this manner ?
As thou desirest to make me suffer, know that I will either
cause thy death, or force thee to leave thy country." And
with these words, tearing all her hair and clothes, she cried out
most violently,," Help I help ! the Count d'Angiers is about
to offer violence." He seeing this, and fearing more from the
envy of the court than his own conscience, supposing also
that more credit would be given to her wicked story than his
innocence, hastened out of the chamber as fast as he could,
and tied to his own house, when without delay, he set his
children on horseback, and made the best of his way to Calais.
Upon the clamour of the lady many flocked thither, who see-
ing her in that condition, and hearing the cause of her outcry,
not only believed what she told them, but concluded that the
count's genteel behaviour and assiduity at court were merely
to effect this purpose ; they ran therefore in the utmost fury
to his house to seize him, and not finding him there they
stripped it of every thing of value, and pulled it down to the
ground. This disagreeable news soon reached the ears of the
king and prince in the camp, who being greatly disturbed at
it, sentenced him and all his descendants to perpetual banish-
ment, offering a great reward to that person who should bring
him either dead or alive. The count, uneasy that by the
flight he had incurred the imputation of guilt, arrived at Calais

NOVEL VIII. 119

with his children, without making himself known to any per-
son ; from whence he went directly for England, and came to
London in mean apparel, having by the way taught his chil-
dren these two things ; first to bear their misfortunes patiently,
to which fortune had reduced them without any fault of theirs;
and in the second place, to be exceedingly cautious never to
reveal from whence they came, or whom they belonged if
they had least regard for his life. His son named Lewis, was
about nine years of age, and his daughter Violante seven ; and
thev both attended more to their father's admonition than
could have been expected from their youth, as will appear
by the sequel. Thinking it best for their greater security to
change their names, he called the boy therefore, Pierrot, and
the girl Jeannette, and then went like common French beggars
about the city asking charity. Now it happened, that as they
were waiting at a church door one morning, a certain great
lady who was wife to one of the king's principal officers of
Btate, cast her eyes upon them, and asked him where they
came from ? and whether those were his children ? He replied,
that he came from Picardy, and that bhe misbehaviour 01
his eldest son, who proved a very unhappy young man had
obliged him to quit his country with these two other children.
The lady, who was of a compassionate temper, was pleased
with the looks of the girl, and she said to him, " Honest man,
if thou be content to leave thy daughter with me, I like her
countenance so much, that I would willingly take her ; and if she
behave well, I will in due time provide her a husband, so
that she shall live comfortably all her life." Ho was rejoiced
at the offer, and with tears in his eyes resigned the child up to
the lady, recommendng her to her in a most affectionate man-
ner. Thus having disposed of his daughter, and well knowing
to whom, he resolved to stay there no longer, but going across
the island, begging all the way, and his son along with him,
not without the utmost fatigue, being not used to travel on
foot, he came at length into Wales where dwelt another great
lord, an officer also and servant to the king, to whuse palace
which afforded relief to all, they repaired for support : there
it happened, that the lord's son and some other young noble-
men were diverting themselves with running, leaping, and some
other youthful exercises ; and Pierrot, making one among
them, outdid them all in every sport Which when the noble-
man perceived, he was mightily pleased with him, and en-
quired to whom he belonged ; and it being tuld him that he
was a poor man's son, who came there to beg alms, the lord
requested that he would give him to him. The count, who
desired nothing so much, freely consented, though their parting
was a little grievous ; and having now provided for both his
children, he determined to stay no longer in England, but as
soon as he had an opportunity he passed into Ireland, and

120 SECOND DAY.

came to Stanford, where be hiredhimselff i a certain knight, who
belonged to the n tinue of an earl in that county, and did the
duty of a common servant for many years. In the mean time
\ iolante, now called Jeannette, who continued with the lady
al London, increased in beauty and every oilier accomplish-
ment, ai well as in stature; insomuch that she became the

delight both Of the lord and lady, as well as of every one that
I her J whilst the lady, who had no other notion of her
quality than what she had received fiuin herself, was thinking
of marrying her according to her supposed ran!.; when it
pleased God, the just reward r of p< i pie's mints seeing that
she was nohly horn, and punished only for other people's
wickedness, to order it otherwise. The lady had an only son
by her lord, of whom they were both exceedingly fond, and
d - rvedly bo, on account of Ids excellent disposition and cha-
racter; who being about six years older than Jeannette, and
beholding her extraordinary beauty and merit, was so much
in love that he cared for no other woman. Supposing however,
that she was of low extraction, lie was afraid to demand her of
ither and mother, and through fear of being repimanded
for placing his affections so low, he Kept it smothered in his
In-east ; for which reason it preyed more upon him than if he
had divulged it, till at length he fell into a greivous lit of
sickness. Hereupon several physicians were sent for, who had
regard to one symptom after another, till not being able to
make out what his disorder was, they gave him over. '1 ids
occasioned the utmost affliction both to bis father and mother,
who were continually requesting him to tell them the seer, t
i tseof hismalady ; to which he either made no answer hut by
sighs, or else that he found himself continually wasting. Now
one day it happened that a certain young physician, though
profound in science, was sitting by ids bedside, and F<
his pulse, when Jeannette, who attended carefully upon him
out of respect to his mother, chanced to come at that very
instant into the room ; upon seeing her, the young gentleman
without uttering a word or niakii, conceived l

ly in his heart the passion of love, when his pulse 1.
t i beat higher than usual, which the physician s i n perceived;
and being surprised, kept his lingers some tune upon it t(
how loiiL,r that difference would last As she went out of the i

i it abated ; wherefore, thinking that he had now found
out in what the disorder was, pretending i

as if he wanted t«> speak to Jeannette, and still holding him by
the hand, he had her .ailed had. : she returned instantly, when
the pulse beat a-- before, which ceased at her departure.
physician now fully satisfied ea.t up, and taking the father
and mother apart, he spoke in this manner to them :— " 1 e
welfare of your Bon is not in the power of the physicians, but
it la-sin the hands of Jeannette, whom I find, hy certain tokens

NOVEL VIII. 121

that he is desperately in love with ; although, by what I can
perceive, she knows nothing of it. You see now what you have
to do, if you value his life." The lord and lady were well
enough pleased to hear there was one way to save their son's
life, though the fear of being obliged to do what they most dread-
ed gave them concern, namely, their marrying her to him ;
therefore, after the physician was departed, they went together
to their son, when the lady said to him as follows : — " I
could never have believed my dear, that you would have con-
cealed any of your wants from me, especially since your not
being gratified in that respect has been attended with such evil
consequences ; for you might have been confident, as you may
still, that there is nothing which I would not do for your
ease and welfare, as much as for my own. But since you have
done so, God has been more merciful to you than you would be
to yourself ; for I know now that it is all occasioned by love,
whoever the person is : and why should you have been ashamed
to tell me ? It is natural to one of your age, and were you a
stranger to love, I should think you of little worth. — Then
lay yourself open to me, and cast away all that drooping and
melancholy, which has brought this disorder upon you, assuring
yourself, that there is nothing you can desire of me, wherein
I will not gratify you to the utmost of my ability, for I love
you as dearly as my own life. Away then, with this bashful-
ness, and tell me plainly if I can be of service with regard to
this love of yours ; and if you find me not in earnest, then be-
lieve me to be the crudest of mothers." The young gentleman
changed colour at hearing these words ; but considering after-
wards that none could sooner serve him than his mother, he
spoke without the least reserve, to this effect: "Madam,
nothing has made me keep my love a secret so much as what
I have observed in many people, when they grow into years ;
they forget that they ever were young : but now I find you
considerate in that point, I shall not only confess your sus-
picion to be true, but will also name the person to you provi-
ded you will, according to promise, use your best endeavours
in my behalf; and by that means you may save my life." The
lady, thinking to serve him in a different manner from what he
himself intended, bade him speak out, and she would endeavour
that he should have his will. He then replied : — " Madam,
the beautiful and agreeable behaviour of Jeannette, and her not
pitying me, or being even sensible how much I love her, which
I have yet revealed to no person living, have brought me to this
condition. If therefore you make not your word good to me,
you may depend upon it my life is short." She, thinking it
a more proper time to comfort than reprove him, said with a
smile, (i And have you then languished so long for this ? Have
a good heart, and when you grow better leave the matter to me."
The young spark full of hopes, began now to shew speedy

M

122 SECOND DAY.

symptoms of amendment to the mother's great comfort, who
was contriving how to perform her promise ; ami one day, call-
ing Jeannette to her, Bhe began by way of discourse, to ask
her if she ever had a sweetheart ! She blushed, and replied,

" Madam, it ill becomes a poor young woman like myself, who
is driven from her own house, ami Bubject to other people's will
and pleasure, to think of love." She then rejoined : " If you
have no lover, I will procure one for you that you may live
with some comfort ; for so pretty a girl as you are should never
be without." Jeannette said, •' .Madam, as you have taken me
from my father, and brought me up like your own child, I am
obliged to do all in my power to please you : hut in this par-
ticular, I think 1 am in the right not to do it. If you mean
to give me a husband, him I shall respect, but no one else.
For of all that my ancestors possessed, there is nothing now
remaining to me but their virtue, and this I intend to keep as
long as 1 live." This was quite contrary to her intention, as
to the promise she had made her son ; though like a prudent
lady, she seemed to commend her for it, and said, " But if the
king, who is young, should have a fancy for you, would you
deny him ?" She immediately replied, His majesty might
use force, but he should never have her consent, but upon terms
of honour. The lady, seeing what her resolution was, said no
more ; but resolved to put her to the proof, saying to her son
that when he got well she would put them into a room to-
gether, and he might do with her as he pleased ; for it was per-
forming a base office for her to proceed any farther in that way
for him. This was by no means pleasing to the young gentle-
man, who relapsed immediately upon it : which the lady per-
ceiving, she laid open her intention to Jeannette, and found
her more resolute than ever. Her husband being made ac-
quainted with the whole matter, it was agreed by them
(though much against their inclinations), that he should marry
her; preferring their son's life with a wife much beneath
him, to his death without one. This was soon put in execution
to Jeannette's great joy, who gave thanks to Heaven for its
mercy vouchsafed towards her ; but all the while she would
make no other discovery of herself, than that she was daughter
to a person in Picardy. They lived afterwards very happily to-
gether. Let us now return to Pierrot, whom we left in Wales
with a great officer belonging to the king of England : he grew
much in favour with his lord, and being graceful and manly in
person, and more expert at all military exercises than any one
in the country, was known everywhere by the name of Pierrot
the Picard ; and as God had been gracious to his sister, so was
he ho less kind and merciful to him ; for the plague happened
to break out in that country, which swept away half the people
and a great part of those who were left had tied for refuge into
other lands, so that the nation appeared quite desolate. In this

NOVEL VIII. 123

mortality ,'the lord and lady, with their son, brethren, and ne-
phews, and near relations, all died, and there was none of the
family left besides an only daughter just of age to marry, and
a few servants. As soon as the plague was over, she took him
for her husband, on account of his extraordinary merit, and
made him lord of all her inheritance. And it was not long be-
fore the king of England, hearing of the late lord's death, and
knowing Pierrot's worth and valour substituted him in his place,
and gave him the same power and command. Such was the
fate of the two innocent children of the Count D' Angiers,
whom he had left destitute.

It was now eighteen years since he came from Paris, and
having suffered great hardship during his abode in Ireland,
and as he was at present grown old, he was willing to know
what was become of his children. Being quite altered as to
his person, and finding himself more robust and active than
in his youth, which he had spent in ease and indolence, he
left the service where he had been for so long a time, and set
forward in a mean dress for England : coming therefore, to
the place where he had left Pierrot, he found him to be a
great and mighty lord, and in perfect health, which gave him
the utmost satisfaction ; but yet he was resolved not to dis-
cover himself, till he should know what was become of Jean-
nette. Travelling still on for London, and inquiring cautious-
ly there concerning the lady with whom he had left his
daughter, he discovered that Jeannette was married to her son,
which pleased him infinitely, esteeming all his past sufferings
as nothing, since he had found both his children alive and in
prosperity. Desirous now of seeing her, he repaired to the
house like a poor man, and being taken notice of by James
Lamiens (for that was the husband's name), he had pity on
him, and ordered one of his servants to give him relief. Jean-
nette had several children by him, the eldest of whom was
about eight years old, all very beautiful ; and seeing the
count begin to eat, they came about him, and were as much
pleased with him, as if by some secret instinct they had known
him to be their grandfather ; whilst he, knowing them to be
his grandchildren, shewed a thousand little fondnesses towards
them, which made them unwilling to leave him, when their
governor would have called them away. On hearing this,
Jeannette came out of her chamber, and threatened to whip
them, if they would not obey their master ; this set the chil-
dren a crying, and they said, they had much rather stay with
the honest man who loved them better than their master
did ; which made the lady and count both laugh heartily.
He arose, not as a father, but like a poor man, to pay reverence
to his daughter as to a great lady ; feeling great pleasure at
the sight of her, whilst she had not the least knowledge of him :
so much was he altered, having grey hairs, a long beard, and

124 \I> DAY.

a black ami meagre countenance, that he was nothing like
the The lady now seeing li<>w unwilling the chil-

dren were . ordered their master to let them stay a

little. In the mean time, her husband's father came home,
and being told this circumstance by tl and holding

her always in great contempt, be said, " Let them stay with a
mischief to them I they only shew from whence they are
descended; they are beggan by the mother's side, therefore
no wonder that they herd with beggars." The count was
much grieved at hearing these words, hut was forced to bear
this injury, as he had done many Others. The lady's husband
bad taken notice all this time of the children's fondness towards
the count, and was uneasy at it ; yet BO tender was he of them,
that rath r than make them uneasy, In- gave orders that if
the honest man was willing to stay In his service, he should
be received, lie replied that he should be glad of it, but was
only able to look after horses, which be had been used to all
bis life. He had a hoi 1 bun then fore, to take care

of, and when his business was over he used to play with the
children. Whilst fortune had thus disposed of the Count
d'Angiers and his children, it came to pass, that after making
many treaties with the Germans, the King of Trance died, and
was succeeded by that son, whose wife had occasioned the
count's banishment ; and the last truce being now expired, a
bloody war broke out afresh, when the King of England, who
was bis kinsman, sent him large supplies of people under the
command of Pierrot, one of his generals, and James Lamiens
BOn to another of bis generals, with whom went the count as a
servant ; when he did more service, both by his valour and good
counsel, thin was expected from him. In the course of the
war, the Queen of France chanced to be taken ill, and lindiiK?
herself past all hopes of recovery, made a confession, of all
her sins to the Archbishop of Rouen, esteemed by alias a most
holy person; and amongst other things, she mentioned the
great wrong she bad done to the Count d'Angiers: nor was
she content with speaking this to him only, but she also de-
clared it before many other worthy pern ns, desiring their in-
tercession with the king, that if he or his children were any
of them living, they might be restored to their former condi-
tion : soon after this she died, and was honourably interred.
This confession being reported to the king, after much con-
cern for the injury done to so great a man, he issued out a
ira it ion, that if any person could give tidings of the count
or his children, they Bhould be well rewarded, since the queen
bad declared him innocent of the crime lor which be had fled
his country ; and that his majesty meant to exalt bini to the
same or even greater honours than he had before. When
the count heard this, he went immediately to Janus Lamiens,
and desired him to go along with him to Pierrot ; saying, he

NOVEL VIII. 125

would then shew them what the king desired. Being all met
together, the count declared to Pierrot that he was now re-
solved to discover himself; for, " Pierrot," says he, " James
Lamiens, who is here present, has married your sister, and has
had no fortune with her : therefore I intend that he shall have
the benefit of the king's proclamation, both for yourself, as son
to the Count d'Angiers, for Violante your sister and his wife,
lastly for myself, who am the Count d'Angiers and your father."
Pierrot, hearing this, and looking steadfastly upon him, soon
called him to mind, and fell down with tears at his feet : whilst
James Lamiens was surprised with so much wonder and joy
together, that he scarcely knew what to say ; and blushing
for the little respect he had shewed him, he humbly asked
pardon, which the count readily granted : and when they had
talked over their several fortunes, sometimes in tears, and then
again in joy, they would have had him put on suitable apparel,
which he would by no means consent to, being desirous that
James Lamiens should first secure the reward, and by present-
ing him in that garb, make the shame for his ill usage so much
the greater. James hereupon went with the count and Pierrot
before the king, offering for the promised reward to produce
both the count and his children. The king then ordered a most
magnificent present to be brought, telling him it was his own
upon those conditions. James then stepped back a little, and
presented the count as his servant, and Pierrot, saying, " Be-
hold sir, the father and son ; as for the daughter she is my
wife ; but with the leave of Heaven, you shall see her before
it is long." The king on hearing this, looked earnestly at the
count, and notwithstanding his being so much changed, soon
called him to mind, and with tears in his eyes, raised him
from the ground, on which he was kneeling, and kissed and
shook him by the hand : he welcomed Pierrot also in a most
friendly manner ; and ordered that the count should have
clothes, servants, horses/ and every thing suitable to his
quality, which was accordingly done. The king shewed great
respect also to James Lamiens, and inquired particularly
about every thing that had befallen them : to whom, after he
had received the reward for making the discovery, the count
said : " Receive this royal bounty at the hands of his majesty,
and remember to tell your father, that your children and my
grandchildren are not meanly descended with regard to their
mother." James received the presents, and sent for his wife
and mother to Paris ; and Pierrot also brought his lady, and
they were received by the king, along with the count, with the
utmost joy, who restored them all they had lost, with large
additions of fortune. They had afterwards permission to re-
turn home, leaving the count at Paris, where he continued to
his dying day in more repute and glory than ever.

12(3

THE SECOND DAY.

NOVEL IX.

B ard of Genoa is imposed upon by one Ambrose, loses his mo-
no/, and orders his wife who is quite innoct nt, to be put to

death. She makes her escape, and goes in man's dress into the

service of the saltan; there she meets with the deceiver; and
sending for her husband to Alexandria, has him punished \ site
then resumes her former habit, and returns with her husband rich

to Gem, a.

Eliza having discharged her duty hy the last moving story,
the queen, who was of a most graceful person, taking the next
turn upon herself, spoke with a smile to this effect : —

We must make good our agreement with Dioneus ; and
therefore, as only he and I remain to speak, I shall begin
with my story, and leave him to the last, as he has desired.
It is a common saying, that the deceiver lies at the mercy of
tin' deceived : which I think can only be proved true by cir-
cumstances of that kind, which have happened in the world ;
this then I propose to shew you, hoping a relation of this
sort will not he disagreeable, to the end you may he upon your
guard against such as would deceive you.

There happened together in an inn at Paris some Italian
merchants, who had come thither upon their different occa-
bions, i n-i meeting at supper one night, and conversing merrily
of "lie thing after another, they came at last to talk of their
wives, whom they had left behind them: when one of them
said, ina jesting way, " I do not know what my wife does with
herself, hut I am sure it I met with any thing that pleases
me, I forget my love for her, use of the opportu-

nity." " And, s.» do I." quoth an >th« r ; " tor whether I believe
it or not, my wife will do a- she pleases." A third was of

NOVEL VIII. 127

the same opinion, and all seemed to agree that their wives at
home lost no time in their absence. Only one man among
them all, named Bernard Lomellin, of Genoa, avowed the con-
trary ; declaring, that he had a wife, in whom were centred
all the virtues that could adorn either sex: that she was young
and beautiful in her person ; that she was mistress of her needle ;
that no man-servant waited with more dexterity at his master's
table, than he was served by her, she being thoroughly dis-
creet andewell-bred ; that besides her skill in horsemanship,
and the management of a hawk, there was no merchant under-
stood accounts better : and coming at length to what began
the dispute, he declared with an oath, that no woman upon
earth could be more virtuous and chaste than she was ; for he
firmly believed, were he to be absent from her ten years, she
would have to do with no ether person. Amongst the mer-
chants who had been talking upon this subject, was a young
fellow called Ambrose of Piacenza, who made the {greatest
jest in the world of what Bernard said last in praise of his wife,
asking him, whether the emperor had given him this privilege,
exclusive of the rest of mankind ? Bernard, a little agitated,
said, not the emperor, but God Almighty, who was some-
thing more powerful than the emperor, bad bestowed this
favour upon him. Ambrose replied, " I make not the least
doubt, but that you think you speak truth : but in my opinion,
you have not enough considered the nature of things ;
for if you had, I do not believe your understanding so mean,
not to find many reasons to make you think more coolly of the
matter. Wherefore, that you may not imagine that we, who
have spoken so much at large concerning our wives, suppose
them of a different make from yours, but that we have, merely
regard to the natural propensity of all, I shall beg leave to
reason a little with you upon this subject. I have always
understood, that man is the most noble of God's creatures, and
that woman is in the next degree to him : now as man is al-
lowed to be more perfect, he must consequently have more
resolution and constancy. In like manner, women are always
more wavering and fickle, as I could shew by several reasons
which I shall omit at present. If therefore man, who is al-
lowed to have the most stability, cannot (I will not say resist
a woman, that should entreat him) but even desire, and do
all that lies in his power to get into the company of a woman
that he likes, aud this not once in a month, but a thousand
times every day, what can you think a woman naturally
weak, can do against the entreaties, flatteries, gifts,
and a thousand other means, which an artful lover knows
how to use ? Do you think she can resist ? Affirm it as you
will, I can never think you in earnest. You say your wife is
flesh and blood, and therefore subject to the same desires
with other women: and her strength to resist those desires

128 SECOND DAY.

must bo the same: be she then ever so virtuous, it is possible
for her to do like other women : and if it be possible, you
should never have denii d it in that poi itive manner, and main-
tained the contrary, as you have done." Bi rnard replied, and
said, " I am a merchant, and not a philospher, and shall answer
you as such ; I tell you therefore, that what you say may be
the case of women of little understanding, and who have no
sense of shame ; but such as are wise have that regard for their
honour, that they became more firm than men, who are not so
tender in that point ; and such an one is my wife." — " Truly,"
Ambrose, "if for every fault of this kind they were to
have a horn spring out of their foreheads to hear testimony
against them, 1 believe few would he guilty: but so far from
having a horn grow, if they be wise there is nothing to make
the least discovery; and as shame and lo-s of character happen
only when things are made public, therefore what they can ac-
complish in secret, they rarely fail to do: or, if they abstain, it
is through their folly. Take this then for a ride — that woman
only is chaste who has never been asked ; or she who herself
has asked and been refused. And though I am convinced
of this by natural and just reasons, yet I should not speak as I
do, if 1 had not tried the humours and affections of many
different women. Let me also tell you, that if I was in com-
pany with your most virtuous wife, I should not doubt my
obtaining the same favour from her, that I have gained from
many others." Bernard was provoked at this, and said, " There
is no end of disputing ; you assert and I assert, which is all
nothing : but since you say they are so easily warped, and have
such an opinion of your own power that way ; to convince
you of my wife's virtue, I will forfeit my head, if you ever bring
her to a compliance, upon condition that if you should not
prevail over her, you only lose a thousand llurins pf gold."
Ambrose replied, with a good deal of warmth, " What service
will your life be to me if I should win it ! But if you have a
mind to put the thing to the trial, deposit five thousand florins,
which are of less value than your life, against one thousand of
mine; and as you tix no time, I will oblige myself to go to
Genoa, and in less than three months," from the day of my de-
parture, to gain my will of your wife, and to bring such to-
kens of that back with me as you yourself shall confess to be
just; provided you will give me your word, that you will
neither come to Genoa in that time, nor write to her about
that matter." Bernard said he liked the wager ; and though
the other merchants endeavoured all they could to prevent
it, as well knowing what mischief might ensue ; yet the two
merchants were so warm, that, in spite of all their friends
c uld do, they immediately si -wed the articles to that pur-
pose. Bernard therefore staved behind, whilst Ambrose made
the best oi ' Genoa; where he continued a d.

NOVEL IX. 129

two, informing himself as cautiously as possible, of the name
of the street where the lady lived, as also of her character,
when he soon heard all that Bernard had related to be true,
and a great deal more ; which made him conclude that he had
come thither upon a very foolish errand : but meeting with
a poor woman who frequented the house, to whom the lady
was very kind, he wrought so far upon her by means of a bribe,
that he was carried in a chest made according to his own
direction, not only into the house but even into the lady's bed-
chamber ; where it was to be left for some days, for the greater
security, as if the good woman was going abroad.

When night came, and the lady as he supposed was asleep,
he opened the chest with certain instruments, which he had
carried with him for that end, and went softly into the room,
where a light was burning by which he observed carefully the
form and situation of the chamber, and also the pictures, and
every thing remarkable in it ; which he endeavoured to keep
in his memory. Coming then to the bedside, and seeing the
lady and a little girl that was in bed with her both fast asleep,
he found her as beautiful as if she had been dressed ; but yet
he could perceive no sign to carry away concerning her, un-
less it was a mole upon her left breast; with which being
pretty well satisfied, and not daring, from the lady's known
character, to presume farther ; after being there the greatest
part of the night, he took a purse and also a gown, with a
ring and girdle ; all which he put into his chest, and went into
it again, making it fast as before, where he continued two nights,
without the lady's perceiving any thing of the matter. The
third day the woman came for the chest, acording to her ap-
pointment, and carried it back, when Ambrose satisfied her
according to promise, and hastened away to Paris with those
tokens before the limited time. There he summoned the
merchants together, who were present when the wager was
laid, declaring to Bernard that he had won, having brought
the tokens which he had promised to produce. First, then,
he described the chamber and the paintings, and shewed those
things which he said he had received from herself. Bernard
owned that the chamber was as he had described it ; and he
remembered also that the things which he had brought be-
longed to his wife; but he added, that he might have an
account of the room, as well as procure the other things, from
some of the servants ; therefore, if he could say nothing
more, this did not seem sufficient to entitle him to the wager.
When Ambrose replied, " Truly this ought to satisfy you; but
since you would have me say something more, know then,
that Madam Zineura your wife has a mole upon her left
breast." When Bernard heard this, he was struck to the very
heart, and his countenance changed in such a manner, as to
convince them if he had not said another word, that Am-

130 \I> DAY.

brosc spoke truth ; and after some time he replied : "Gentle-
men, what Ambrose says is true; and as 1 own myself to have
lost, he may come when lie pleases i rid I will pay him." The
money therefore was paid the n vt day, and Bernard .set out
for Genoa most cruelly incensed against his wile; and being
come to a country-house of his about twenty miles off, he
sent a servant whom he could trust, with a couple of horses
ami a letter to her; wherein he acquainted her with his return,
and that he would hive her come away along with the ser-
vant; whom he had charged at the same time, as soon as he
came to a fit place, to put her to death, antl repair to him.
His servant delivered the letter to his mistress, who received
the news with great joy ; and the next morning she set forwards
with him. As they travelled along, talking of divers things
by the way, they came into a solitary vale surrounded with
trees, which the servant thought a lit place for the execution
of his master's orders : therefore, drawing a knife out of his
pocket, and taking the lady by the arm, he said, " Madam,
commend your soul to God, for here you must die." She,
in the utmost astonishment, begged for God's sake, that he-
fore he put her to death, he would tell her what she had done
to offend him in that manner. " Madam," said the servant,
"you have done me no harm ; and as to your husband, I can
only say this, that he ordered me to kill you by the way, with-
out shewing you the least mercy ; threatening otherwise to
hang me up. You know full well my obligations to him, ami
that I must not resist his commands; I am sorry for yen
God knows, but I cannot help it." The lady wept, and said,
'•Alas! do not murder me, who have never injured you, for
the sake of another person : God is my witness, who knoweth
all things, that 1 never did any thing to deserve this from my
husband; hut setting that aside, you may if you please, serve
God, your master, and myself, in this manner; namely, do
you take my clothes, leaving me only your hat and doublet, ami
cany them to my lord and yours, telling him that you have
killed me ; and I swear, by that life for which I shall be in-
debted to you, that 1 will go where neither he, you, nor any
person in this country, shall ever hear more concerning me."
The servant, who was loath to put her to death, was easily
prevailed upon ; and leaving her his coat and hit, and some
money which she had about her, and entreating her not to
make any stay, went straight to his master telling him that lu-
ll ul i beyed his commands, .and left the body to he devoured by
wolves. After some time Bernard returned to Genoa, and the
fact being discovered, he was much blamed for what he had
done. The lady being left alone, as soon as night came on, she

disguised herself as well as she could, and went to a neighbour-
ing village, where she procured what she wanted of an old wo-
man, aid slic mended and cut the doublet shorter, and turned

NOVEL IX 131

her shift into a pair of trowsers ; and having cut her hair, and
appearing in every respect like a common sailor, she went to
the sea-side, where she met a Catalonian gentleman, named
Senor Encararch, who being just come on shore to refresh
himself at a spring of fresh water, she fell into discourse with
him, and agreeing to enter into his service, went on board,
calling herself Sicurano da Finale. There she had obtained
better clothes, and she proved so expert and diligent a servant,
that he was greatly pleased with her. Soon afterwards this
gentleman sailed to Alexandria, carrying with him a number
of falcons as a present to the sultan, who often entertained him
at his table ; and taking particular notice of the behaviour
of Sicurano, who waited always upon her master, he begged
her of the gentleman much against his will ; and in a little time
she was in as great favour with the sultan, as she had been with
her former master. Now at a certain time of the year there was
to be a fair at Acre, which was under the dominion of the sultan,
and where there was a great resort both of Christian and Turk-
ish merchants, for whose greater security the sultan used to
send one of his ordinary officers with a band of soldiers. And
the time now drawing near, he resolved to send Sicurano for
that purpose, being well skilled in the languages ; and she
arriving at Acre as captain of the guard for the merchants,
discharged her duty with great care and diligence, conversing
daily with Sicilian, Pisan, Genoese, Venetian, and other Italian
merchants, whom she was chiefly acquainted with, because they
were of her own country. As she was one day therefore in a
shop belonging to some Venetian merchant, amongst some
other toys, she cast her eye upon a purse and girdle, which
she soon knew to be her own ; but without making any such
discovery, she asked whom they belonged to, and whether they
were to be sold ? Now it happened that Ambrose was come
thither with a great stock of goods, along with these merchants
on board their ship and hearing that the captain of the guard
made inquiry whom those things belonged to, he stepped for-
wards, and said, with a laugh, " Sir, they are mine, and not to
be sold ; but if you like them, they are at your service." Sicu-
rano seeing him laugh, supposing it was at some action or be-
haviourof hers, and therefore, with a more settled countenance
she said, " I suppose you laugh to see me, a man professing
arms, inquiring after such womanish toys." — " Sir," replied
Ambrose, " I do not laugh at that ; but I laugh only at the
manner by which I obtained them." Sicurano then replied,
"Good Sir, if it be not too much trouble, tell me how that
was." " Sir," quoth Ambrose, " a lady of Genoa, called Zineu-
ra, wife to one Bernard Lomellin, gave them to me one night
when I lay with her, and desired I would keep them for her
sake. I laugh therefore at Bernard's folly, who laid me five
thousand florins to one thousand, that I could not obtain my

132 OND DAY.

will of In r; which I did, and won mj wa ;erj whilst he, who
deserved to have been punished for his brutality more than she,
who did i o more than what all women do, returned to <•■
and by what I can find, had her , tth." Bicurano

now found out the grounds of Bernard's dii and

as she perceived this man had been th it, she de-

termined not to let him go unpunished : hu t seeming to be
pleased with his story, she b ■ acquainted with him;

and when the fur was ended, ^ 1 » « • t >ok him with her to Alex-
andria, .'iinl made him hiiv a Bhop, and lodged money in his
hands, which turned to such account that he wi - ven willing
t> stay there. Sicurano, desirous of making her innocence
appear to ber husband, agreed with som G merchants,

under some pretence or other, to have him brought thither;
and being come in a poor and wretched plight, she had him
privati ly to a friend's house to 1» taken care of, till it should
be time to put her purpose in execution. Now Sicurano had
made Ambrose tell the story before the sultan, who seemed
pleased with it ; but as so n as her husband was come, sin- de-
termined to wait no longer; and taking a lit opportunity,
she prevailed upon the sultan to send lor Ambrose and Bernard
both before him, and in the presence of Bernard, to make
the other confess by force, if he would not own it otherwise,
how the affair was, which he had b< asted of concerning I
nard's wife. Accordingly, they were brought face to face,
and the sultan, with a stern countenance, commanded Ambrose
before a number of people, to speak th.' truth, namely, how-
he had won of Bernard the five thousand florins. Sicurano also,
who was present, and in whom Ambro e put a good deal
of confidence, declared, with a great deal of anger in her looks,
that he should be sev< rely chastist d, if he did not : ! { ing t. r-
rified therefore on both sides, and in some measure compelled ;
expecting also to restore only the five thousand florins wil
any other punishment, he related the whole affair. Which
being done, Sicuran >,as minister to the sultan, turned to Ber-
nard, and said, "What did you then to your wife on account
of this lie?" He replied, "Being outrageous with the 1
my money and the shame to which 1 wi j ( d, for the

injury I thought 1 had su.-tained from her, I ordered one of my
s rvantS to murder her, an 1 as he informs me, she was im-
mediately devoured by wolves."

Th' Be things being related in presence of the sultan, and many
other witnesses, without his knowing Sicurano'a purpoa .
said therefore, " My lord, you now see plainly what great
;i the poor won, an has to boast of her gallant and hus-
band ; for the one deprives her of her good character with li< ,
and ruins her husband at the same time; whilst the other,
shewing greater regard to that person's falseness, than to the
virtui oi ins wife (of which b m ght have been assured by long

NOVEL IX. 133

experience), has her murdered, and devoured by wolves. Be-
sides, such is the respect that they both bear towards her, that
she is now known to neither of them, though they have been
long entertained by her. But, that you may more perfectly
understand what both have deserved, and if at my request,
you will punish the deceiver, and excuse the person who was
deceived, she shall forthwith appear before you and them."
The sultan, who was disposed to shew favour to Sicurano in
every thing, agreed that the lady should appear ; at which Ber-
nard was much surprised, supposing she was dead ; whilst Am-
brose, foreseeing what was likely to happen, began to think of
something worse than repayment of the money, not knowing
whether he had most reason to fear or hope, in consequence of
her appearing there ; and he waited her coming with the utmost
consternation. The sultan, having thus given leave, Sicu-
rano threw herself at his feet, and laying aside her manly voice
and demeanour, she said, " My lord, I am the miserable and
unfortunate Zineura, who, for the space of six years, have
wandered over the world in man's disguise, being most basely
aspersed by that villain Ambrose, and given up to a servant
by that most cruel and unjust man, to be murdered and de-
voured by wolves." And shewing her breast, she made it
appear that she was the same woman. Turning then to Am-
brose, she resolutely demanded, when it was that he had
lain with her, as he had formerly vaunted ? But he, know-
ing her again, was so struck with shame, ,that he could not
utter a word. The sultan, who had all along taken her for a
man, was so surprised at what he heard and saw, that it ap-
peared to him more like a dream than truth : but upon recol-
lecting himself, and seeing every thing plainly made out, he
most highly commended the life, constancy, and behaviour,
of Zineura, heretofore called Sicurano ; and ordering proper
apparel and attendants for her, pardoned Bernard at her re-
quest, the death he had justly merited ; who, now knowing
her again, kneeled down and begged pardon, which she
readily granted, however unworthy he was of it, and embraced
him as her husband. The sultan then ordered Ambrose to
be tied to a stake, in the most eminent part of the city, and
his naked body to be smeared over with honey, and to hang
there till he should drop in pieces ; which sentence was soon
put in execution. He next gave charge that all his substance
should be given to Zineura, which did not amount to less than
ten thousand double ducats : and making a most sumptuous
feast in honour of Bernard, as her husband, and Zineura as a
most worthy lady, he presented her with plate and money to
the amount of ten thousand ducats more ; and providing a
ship for them when the feast was over, he gave them leave to
depart to Genoa ; which they did with great joy, and were re-
ceived with the utmost respect, especially Zineura, who was

134 SECOND DAY.

thought to he dead ; and the same esteem was continued
towards her ;is long as she lived. As for Ambrose, he was not
only destroyed the very day he was impaled, by wasps and
hornets, with which the country abounds, hut he was eaten
to the verj bones; which, being bound together by the sinews,
remained hanging there for sonic time, as a testimony of his
villany. And thus it is that the deceiver lies at the mercy
of the deceived.

135

THE SECOND DAY.

NOVEL X.

Paganino du Monaco carries away the wife of Signior Ricciardo
di Chinxica, who, understanding where she was, went thither,
and growing acquainted with Paganino, he demanded her back,
which the other consents to, provided she is willing ; she re-
fuses to consent ; and upon Ricciardo' s death became the wife
of Paganino.

All the company commended the queen's story, and especially
Dioneus, who was the only person left to speak for that
day; and' having said much in praise of it, he began to this
effect : — Ladies, part of the queen's novel has made me change
my intention, with regard to what I meant to relate for ano-
ther ; which is the brutishness of Bernard (though it happened
well for him) and of all such as himself, who think as he did ;
namely, that whilst they are travelling about from place to
place, and diverting themselves sometimes with one lady and
sometimes with another, they conclude that their wives sit
with theix hands before them all the while, as if we do nov
know to the contrary. I shall therefore shew you how great
the folly is of all such people ; and of those especially, who,
supposing themselves to be more powerful than nature hath
really formed them, think to cover all by fabulous demonstra-
tions; and endeavour to make other person's constitutions
and tempers square with their own, however contrary it may
be to their natural bent and inclination. There lived, once
at Pisa, a certain judge, endowed with greater genius of mind
than bodily ability, whose name was Signior Ricciardo di Chin-
zica, who being persuaded that there was no more in marry-
ing than in pursuing his studies, determined, as he was very
rich, to have a very young and a very handsome wife; whereas,

136 .i OND DAY.

had he known how to advise himself as well as he did other
people, he should have avoided both the one and the other.
Accordingly, Signior Lotto Gualandi bestowed his daughter
upon luin, whose name was Bartolomea, one of the briskest and
most beautiful ladies in all Pisa, though then- are few of them
all that are not as red as afos ; and having brought her home
in great state, he made shift to pass the wedding night Being
a better judge now of his own strength, lie began to teach her a
new calendar, shewing her that there was scarcely a day in the
year but what was dedicated to some saint or other, and some
days had more saints than one; in reverence to whom, as he
proved by many reasons, a man and his wife ought to keep
asunder at those times. Adding also that those saint's days had
tluir fasts; besides the four seasons of the year, the vigils
of the apostles, and a thousand other holidays, with Fridays,
Saturdays, an I Sundays, and all Lent; as also certain obser-
vations of the moon, ami many other exceptions; as think-
perhaps, that it was convenient to keep as many holidays
with regard to his wife, as to his pleadings in court. Ami in
this manner he lived, to her great discontent, scarcely con-
versing with her once a month, and keeping a strict watch over
her, for fear sonic other person should teach her what belonged
to working days as he had done to holydays. In the mean-
time it happened that the season growing extremely hot, he
wished to go for diversion, to one of his country-seats, near
the Black Mountain, and to take his lady with him for a few
days; ami to make it more agreeable to her, they went out
together one day a fishing, when he and the fishermen were
in one boat, and she in another along with some ladies, who
went to see the sport. Being drawn by their diversion
many miles into the sea, without perceiving it, ami whilst they
were very intent looking on, they were surprised by a privateer
ring to one Paganino di Monaco, a famous pirate, who
: that vessel which had the women on board; and seeing
this fair lady, he carried her into his own ship in sight of her
husband, who had now reached the shore; and without med-
dling with any thin;' eke, sailed directly away. How so.,
lul Ricciardo was at seeing this you may easily imagine,
who was jealous of theverj air itself; and accordingly he made
man) fruitless complaints, both at Pisa and elsewhere, of the
villany of these corsairs, witho.it knowing who it was that
I: id taken his wife, or whither she was carried.

Paganino nowwas much pleased with the lady, seeing hi
handsome; and being without a wife, resolved to keep her as
such; and, perceiving that she was under some concern, he used
many kind and t. nder expressions, till she soon forgot the
calender she had learned; and long before she reached M i
ace, the judge and his laws were quite gone out of her head,
and she lived with all the comfort in the world with Paganino,

NOVEL X. 137

In some time, it came to Ricciardo's ears, what was become
of his wife, and he consequently set off with the utmost impa-
tience, to fetch her back, supposing no other person so pro-
per as himself, and resolved to give any sum of money for her
ransom. Being arrived there, he saw her and she him ; and
that night she told Paganino of it, informing him what she
meant to do. The next morning Ricciardo meeting with
Paganino, they soon became acquainted together ; Paganino
seeming all the time to know nothing of him, but waiting to
see what he meant to do. As soon as a fit opportunity offered
Ricciardo began to set forth the occasion of his coming thither
and, in as handsome a manner as he could, to desire he
would take what ransom he thought fit, and restore him his
wife. Paganino answered very courteously — " Sir, you are hear-
tily welcome ; but the case, in short, is this ; I have a young
woman in the house with me (though whether she is your wife,
or any other person's, that I cannot tell ; for I neither knew
you nor her before she lived with me) if you are her husband
as you say, I will bring you to her, since you seem to be a gen-
tleman, and she must certainly know you. If she agrees with
your story, and is willing you should take her away, your
behaviour has been such, that I shall desire no other recom-
pense than what you are pleased to give me. But if it should
prove otherwise, I must tell you, that you offer me great wrong
to attempt to take her from me ; for I am a young man, and
know what to do with a wife as well as another person ; es-
pecially such an one as she, who is the most agreeable woman
I ever saw." Ricciardo replied, " Most certainly, sir, she is
my wife; and if you please to take me where she is, you will
soon be convinced of it, for she will immediately throw her arms
about my neck ; therefore I desire it may be as you have pro-
posed." — "Let us go then," quoth Paganino : and when
they were come into the house, and sat down together in
the hall, he ordered her to be called, and she being dres-
sed, and ready for that purpose, came to them, taking no
more notice of Ricciardo than she would have done of any
other stranger that should come into the house with Paganino,
which, when the judge perceived, who expected she would
have seen him with great joy, he was much surprised and be-
gan to say to himself, " Surely the grief I have sustained for
the loss of her, has so changed my looks, that she does not
know me again." He therefore said to her, " My love, it has
cost me dear to take you a fishing, for I was never so grieved
in my whole life as since I lost you ; and yet you seem not to
know me, so cruelly are you silent. Do not you see that I am
your Bicciardo, come to pay whatever ransom the gentleman
might demand, in whose house we now are together, to have
you back with me ? And he is so kind as to offer to restore you
at what price I shall fix myself." The lady then turning to
n 2

138 SECOND DAY.

him, said with a smile, "do you speak to me, sir ? Take care
you do not mistake your person, tor I do not remember ever
in my whole life, to have seen you before." He replied, "do
you take care what you say; look well at me; it* you will re-
member, you may plainly see that 1 am your husband Kicciardo
di Chinzica." The lady made answer, " You will excuse me,
sir. it is not so modest as you may suppose, to graze much
upon you ; but 1 have looked long enough to know, that I
never saw you in my whole lite till now. Hieeiardo supposed
that she did this through fear of Paganino, and that she was
willing to confess before him; for which reason he desired as
a favour, to talk alone with her in the chamber. Paganino
replied that he was willing, provided be would not offer to kiss
her against her will. He ordered .her then to go up stairs
witli him, to hear what be had to say, and to answer him as
she thought proper. And being retired together, he began to
say to her, " Alas! my life, my soul, the sweet end of all my
wishes! do not you know your Kicciardo, who loves you more
than himself/ How can this he! Am 1 so altered, my jewel .'
Look upon me a little." She began to laugh, and without
letting him proceed farther, said, " I am not so forgetful, you
are very sensible, not to know that you are Kicciardo de Chin-
zica, my husband; but during the time I was with you, it very
ill appeared that you had any knowledge of me; for were
you really as wise as you would be thought, you must have
perceived that I was young and lively, and consequently not
to be imposed upon by the mere form of matrimony, but if you
prefer the study of the laws, you ought never to have married :
though in truth, you seem rather a proclaimer of feasts and
lasts, than a judge; yet, let me tell you, should you allow your
labourers in the field as many holidays as you take yourself
at home, you would never reap one grain of corn. I have
met with a person whom I like very well, who keeps none
of your Fridays and Saturdays, nor your feasts, vigils, and
long Lents; him, therefore, I intend to abide with while my
youth continues, and to let the fasting part alone till I grow
old. Therefore you may go about your business, and keep as
many of those days without me as you please." He was cx-
cee Lingly troubled at this, and said, after she had done speak-
ing, " .My dear love, what words are these that 1 hear come
from you.' Have you no regard for your parents' honour
and your own I Hail you rather abide here in a mortal sin, as
this man's harlot, than at Pisa as my wife.' He will soon
grow weary of you, and turn you off with great contempt;
but I shall always love you, and when I die, leave you mis-
tress of my house. Can an inordinate and shameful appetite
make you careless of your honour, and of me, who love you
more than my own life.' Do not sav so, my dearest I Go along
with me; now I know what the grievance is, 1 will endeavour

NOVEL X. 139

to redress it: my joy ! my treasure ! change your mind and
depart with me, for I have never known a happy day since
you were taken from me." — Sir," she replied, " I desire no-
body to be careful of my honour but myself: my parents
should have had regard to that when they made roe your wife,
and if they were careless of me at that time, why should I now
be mindful of them ? And as for my living in a mor-
tal sin, never trouble your head about that : I am here con-
sidered as Paganino's wife, but I lived at Pisa rather like a
mistress to you ; there was so much to do between us with
respect to the times of the moon, the quadratures and conjunc-
tions of the planets ; whereas here we mind no such thing.
But you say you will strive to do better: it is impossible our
complexions are so widely different. Go home therefore, and
try to keep yourself alive, for that is as much as you are able
to do : and as for his discarding me, should that ever happen
(which at present seems far from his thoughts) I will never
return to you ; for the world will afford me some resting place
or other. In the mean time, I tell you once more, that here
we have no feasts and fasts, and here I intend to stay: there-
fore, either go directly about your business, or I will call out
that you design to force me." The judge was now in a sad per-
plexity : and being thoroughly sensible of his folly, in marry-
ing so young a person, he left the room, and had some talk
with Paganino, which signified nothing ; in the end, therefore,
he was forced to leave his wife, and he returned to Pisa,
where he ran raving about the streets, making no answer to
any friend that accosted him, except that his strumpet would
keep no holidays ; and soon afterwards he died. Which
news came no sooner to the ears of Paganino, but he married
her out of respect to the love she had for him ; and they lived
together, banishing all fasts, Lents, and such things from their
houses. Therefore, it seems plain to me my dear ladies, that
Bernard quite mistook the cause in his dispute with Ambrose.
This story made them laugh till their sides ached, and all
agreed that Dioneus was in the right, and that Bernard was a
monster. But the queen now considering that it grew late and
that they had all finished their stories, and her govern-
ment was at an end, according to their agreement at the be-
ginning, she took the garland from her own head, and put it
upon Neiphile, saying pleasantly to her, " Hereafter the go-
vernment of this little people be yours:" and she sat down.
Neiphile, blushing at the favour done her, appeared like a rose
in April, with her eyes, though a little cast down, sparkling
like the morning star. After the murmur of the company was
a little abated, applauding the choice, and she had resumed her
courage, she spoke to this effect : — " As I am now your queen
I shall keep to the method which has been hitherto observed
and which you have approved of by your concurrence, and tell

140 SECOND DAY.

you in a few words what I would farther have done. You all
know that to-morrow will be Friday and the next day Satur-
day, both of which are inconvenient days, on account of laying
in provisions. Moreover, Friday is a day to be reverenced,
on account of our Saviour's passion: therefore I hold it fit that
we rather pray thai day, than attend to novels. Now concern-
ing Saturday, it is usual to make every thing clean on that
day: many people also observe it as a fast, in honour of the holy
Virgin, as well as the ensuing sabbath, whereon no labour may
be done. Wherefore, as we cannot go on exactly in the same
manner as we first began, I hold it best to suspend the relation
of any more novels : and as we shall then have been here four
days, except we would admit of some new guests, who might
probably come to us, it will be convenient to go to another
place, which I have already fixed upon, and where I have made
provision for you. On Sunday evening, when we shall be
there assembled, let our next argument still be the mutability
of fortune, which I intend shall be as follows : namely, of such
persons as have acquired, by their diligence, something greatly
wanted by them, or else recovered what they had lost. Let
every one think of something to say upon this subject, which
may be useful, or at least entertaining; saving always his
privilege to Dioneus." They all commended what the queen
had ordered, and agreed it should be done : she afterwards
called the master of the household, to give directions for that
night's entertainment, and for what else was necessary during
her royalty : which being over, she gave the company leave to
go wherever they pleased. They took a walk therefore into
the garden, where they amused themselves till supper-time :
and having supped with great cheerfulness and mirth, and
being risen from table, Emilia began a dance by the queen's
command : whilst the following song was sung by Pampinia,
the rest joining in a chorus.

SONG.

I.

Of all I want or wish possest,
Which of us here should sing hut I ?

Come, gentle Cupid, heavenly guest,
The constant source of all my joy.

II.

And teach my late desponding lyre
No more in plaintive notes to mourn,

lint mirth and am'rousjoy inspire,
Whilst in your pleasing flames 1 hum.

NOVEL X. ]41

III.

You first before my eyes have plac'd
An ardent lover gay and young;

With every manly virtue grac'd,
And soft persuasion on his tongue.

IV.

But what crowns all my hope is this,
Our hearts and wishes fondly join ;

That mutual and the same our bliss,
His love's sincere, and fixed as mine.

V.

Cupid, 'tis to your gift I owe
That in this world I'm amply blest;

May heaven, in whom I trust, bestow,
In that to come, eternal rest !

They sung many other songs also, and led up several more
dances, playing divers kinds of music : but the queen judging
that it was now time to go to bed, they went with a light be-
fore them, to their respective chambers, bestowing the two
following days in the manner which she had before prescribed
to them ; and waiting with impatience for Sunday.

142

THE DECAMERON,

THE THIRD DAY.

The rising sun had now changed the complexion of the morn-
ing from scarlet to yellow, when the queen arose, on Monday,
and had all her company called up : whilst the master of the
household had sent, long before, many things that were ne-
cessary, as also people to order what should he done ; and
seeing the queen now upon the march, he had every thing
else packed up, and removed bag and baggage : the company
of ladies and gentlemen followed behind. The queen marched
on with an easy pace, attended by her ladies and the three
gentlemen, and conducted by the music of nightingales, and
other tuneful birds, along a path not much frequented, but en-
amelled with various flowers, which began to open their bosoms
to the ascending sun; and directing their course full west,
chatting merrily with her company all the way, in a little
more than two miles, she brought them to a most beautiful pa-
lace, seated upon an eminence in the middle of a large plain.
When they were entered therein, and had seen the great
hall and the chambers, most elegantly fitted up, and fur-
nished with every thing that was proper, they greatly ex-
tolled it, judging its lord to be truly a magnificent person.
Going afterwards below stairs, and observing its spacious and
pleasant court, the cellars stored with the richest wines, and
delicate springs of water everywhere running, they commended

THIRD DAY. 143

it yet more. From thence they went to rest themselves in
an open gallery (which overlooked the court) set out with all
the flowers of the season ; whither the master of the house-
hold brought wine and sweetmeats for their refreshment.

They were now shewn into the garden, which was on one
side of the palace, and walled round about ; which seemed so
full of beauties at their first entrance, that they were more
attentive in viewing every part. All round and through the
midst of it were large straight walks covered with vines, which
seemed to promise a plenteous vintage ; and being all in blos-
som, they gave so delicious a scent, joined with other flowers
then blowing in the garden, that they thought themselves
amongst the spiceries of the east. The sides of these walks
were closed with white and red roses and jessamine, in such
a manner, as to exclude the morning, and even the mid-day
sun. What variety of plants, and how elegantly disposed, it
would be needless to mention, since there was nothing belong-
ing to our climate which was not there in great abundance.
In the middle of this garden, what seemed more delightful
than any thing else, was a plot of ground like a meadow : the
grass of a deep green, spangled with a thousand different flow-
ers, and set round with orange and cedar trees, whose branches
were stored with ripe fruit and blossoms, at the same time
affording a most pleasing object to the eye, as well as a grate-
ful odour to the smell. In the centre of this meadow, was a foun-
tain of white marble, beautifully carved ; and (whether by a
natural or artificial spring, I know not) from a figure standing
on a column in the midst of the fountain, a jet of water spouted
up, which made a most agreeable sound in its fall : the water
which came from thence ran through the meadow by a secret
passage ; when being received into canals, it appeared again,
and was carried to every part of the garden, uniting in one
stream at its going out, and falling with such force into the
plain ; as to turn two mills before it got thither. The sight
of this garden, its form and contrivance, with the fountains
and the springs, proceeding from it, pleased the gentlemen
and ladies so much, that they spared not to say, if there was a
paradise on earth, it could be in no other form, nor was it pos-
sible to add anything to it. Whilst they were walking about,
diverting themselves with weaving chaplets of flowers, and
listening to the various melody of the birds, who seemed to
vie with each other, a new beauty presented itself to them,
which they had before taken no notice of : namely, they per-
ceived the garden to be full of a hundred different creatures :
in one place they saw rabbits issuing forth ; from another quar-
ter they saw hares : here, were goats lying down, and there,
were deer grazing, with many others passing backwards and
forwards at their pleasure, as though they were tame. When
their senses had sufficiently feasted on these several beauties,

HI THIRD DAY.

the table MM spread by the side of the fountain, and after half
a dozen songs and some dances, they sat down to eat, being
served in a sumptuous manner with every thing that was nice
and elegant: and when they had done feasting, they began
again to ^ 1 1 1 •_: anil dance, till the queen commanded them to
over, and permitted such as were so disposed to take
their i \ irdingly some departed ; and others, charm-

ed with the pleasantness of die place, stayed to read or play
at chess. At nine they arose, and went into the meadow to
the fountain side, and I I there as usual, they waited

for the time when they should h _mh their novels upon the
Bubject which the queen had proposed: the first who was
Iti Bpeak ■■• n Philostra u . who then addressed them.

115

THE THIBD DAY.

NOVEL L

Masetto da Lamporecchio, pretending to be dumb, is taken in to
be gardener to a monastery of nuns ; what happens in conse-
quence-

There are many people so simple as to imagine, that after
a young lady puts on the veil, she is no longer subject to
the passions of other women; as if by becoming a nun
she were converted into stone : and if they hear any thing
contrary to this opinion, are as much offended, as though
some very heinous and unnatural crime were committed ;
never thinking of themselves, who cannot be satisfied, ail-
though they have the liberty of doing as they will ; nor
considering the prevalency of leisure and solitude. In like
manner, there are others, who think that the spade and pick-
axe, with hard labour and gross feeding, quench all lustful
appetites, depriving the people of all sense and understand-
ing ; but how much they are both mistaken, I shall, at the
queen's command now shew you, keeping close to the sub-
ject which she has given us.

There was formerly in our neighbourhood (and maybe still)
a monastery of nuns, famous for their sanctity (which shall
be nameless, because I would not lessen their characters) in
which were only eight young ladies with an abbess ; there
was also a gardener to look after the garden, who not being
satisfied with his salary, made up his accounts with their
steward, and returned to Lamporecchio, from whence he came.
Amongst many others who were to welcome him home, was a
a

[46 1 HIRD DAY.

young fellow called Masetto, who inquired of him where lie
had been all that time? The honest man (whose name was
Nuto) told him. Tl. e other inquired again in what capacity
he served the monaster) .' When he replied, " I had the
care of the garden, and used to go to the wood foi
I drew water for them also, with such-like services; but my
wages were so small thai they would scarcely find me shoes;
and besides they are all so young and giddy, that I could do
nothing tt> please them; lor when I have been in the garden,
one would cry do this, and another do that, and a third would
take the spade out of my hand, and tell me that thing is in a
wrong place, and they have given me so much trouble alto-
gether, that I have left them ; though the steward desired, at
my departure, that it' I met with a proper person, to send him;
but let me be hanged if I do. " When Masetto heard this, he
had a great desire to he amongst them, supposing, by what
Nuto had said, that he might he able to gain his ends, and
that it might be more difficult if he let the other into the se-
cret. Therefore he said to him, "\ ou do very right to •
away: what has a man to do among so many women? He
might as well he with as many devils : for it is not once in
ten times they know what they would be at. " Alter till
done talking together, Masetto began to contrive what
method lie should take to get introduced ; and being assured
that he could do all the work that Nuto had mentioned, he ha I
no tears upon that account : all the danger seemed rather ft]
his youth and person ; whether for tnat reason he might n
rejected. After much reflection, he reasoned thus with him-
self: l,l live far enough oil", and nobody knows me: suppose
I feign myself dumb, they will certainly receive me then."'
Resolved on this, without saying a word where he was going,
he took an axe upon his shoulder, ami went like a poor man
to the monastery; and finding the steward in the monastery
court, he made signs like a dumb person for a little bread,
and that lit' would cleave wood if they had any occasion. '1'he
steward gave him something to eat, ami afterwards shewed
him divers pieces of wood, which Nuto was not able to rend, but
which he, in a little time (being very strong) split all topi
The steward, having occasion to go to the wood, took him
along with him ; where, making him fell several trees by signs,
be made him load the 8SS with them, and drive him home he-
fore hiin: this he did very well; and the steward wanting him
for Other things, he continued there for several days, till at
length the abbess saw him, who asked the steward what the
man did there .' " .Madam," he replied, "this is a poor man,
deaf and dumb, who came the other day to ask charity, which
1 gave him, and he has done man;, things for u> since: 1 be
if he knows any thing of a garden, and could be pre-
vailed upon to Btay, that he might be of good si rvice, for we

NOVEL I. 147"

want sucli a person, and he is strong, and will do what work
we please : besides, there will be no fear of his seducing any of
the young ladies." — "Why truly," quoth the abbess, "you
say right : do you see if he knows how to work, and try to keep
him ,• and make much of him, giving him a pair of shoes, and
an old coat, and let his belly be filled with victuals." Which
the steward promised to do. Masetto, who was at no great
distance, bu; seemed busy in sweeping the court, heard all tins,
and said merrily to himself, "Yes, if you let me stay here,
I'll do your business with a witness." Now the steward per-
ceiving that he knew how to work, inquired of him by signs
whether he was willing to stay ; and the other made him to
understand that he was willing ; therefore, taking him into
the garden, he shewed him what he wished to have done, and
went about other business relating to the monastery. Now
the nuns used to come every day to tease and laugh at him,
saying anything before him, imagining that he heard them
not. Which the abbess took no notice of, not apprehend-
ing the least danger; and one day being laid down to rest him-
self, two nuns, who were walking in the garden, came to the
place where he pretended to be asleep : and as they stood
looking upon him, one, who was a little more forward than the
other, said, "Could 1 be assured of your secresy, I would tell
you of a thought I have often had in my head, which might
be of service to yourself." Said the other, "You may speak
safely, for I never will disclose it." When the first nun be-
gan in this manner ; "We are kept here in strict confinement,
and not a man suffered to come near us but our steward, who
is old, and this dumb man ; wherefore I have often had a mind
to gratify a certain curiosity with this fellow ; for he is the fittes t
in the world for our purpose, being such an idiot, that he can-
not expose us if he would ; what is your opinion !" "Alas !"
quoth the other, " what is that you say? Do not you know-
that we have promised our virginity to God?" "Oh ! but sister,"
she replied, " how many things do we promise every day, which
we never perform ? If we have promised, there will be others
found that shall be more punctual." "But," said the other
lady, " if we should be with child, what would become of us
then?" She replied, "You think of the worst before it happens;
it will be time enough then to talk of that ; there are a thou-
sand ways of managing in such a case, that nobody will ever be
the wiser, unless we ourselves make the discovery." She
was now prevailed upon, and said to her friend, "How shall
we contrive this matter?" The other replied, "You see it is
about nine o'clock, and I believe our sisters are all asleep ;
let us look round the garden, and if nobody be in it, what have
we to do, but for one of us to lead him into yonder arbour
whilst the other keeps watch?" This was done accordingly,
and they used to serve one another in the same manner, till

I4S THIRD DAY.

at length they were discovered by the other nuns, who all took
the same liberty; and last of all the lady abbes-; herself, ex-
cited by the same curiosity, had him conveyed into her cham-
ber, and kept him there several days ; till having satisfied bis
inclinations, be now resolved to depart. One night, therefore,
he broke his long silence, and acquainted her with his inten-
tions of going away. She was in the utmost astonishment to
hear him speak, and said, "What is the meaning of this ? I
thought you had been dumb."- -".Madam," replied he, so F
was, but not naturally: I had a long disorder, which deprived
me of my speech, and which was restored to me but this night,
for which I am very thankful." — The lady was too prudent
to let him depart, for bar of his scandalizing the monastery,
and in some little time, the steward happening t i die, he was
appointed to succeed him ; and the people v. ere made V
lieve that their prayers, together with the merits of the saint
to whom the monastery wis dedicated, had effected this mi-
racle. The affair was carried on so privately afterwards among
them, that there was no suspicion of that sort till after the death,
of the abbess, when Masetto, being now in years, and wealthy,
was desirous of going home; and their manner of living being
no longer a secret, his desire was the more readily complied
with. Thus, taking no care of his children, but bequeathing
them to the place where they were bred and born, he returned
to his native country, having taken such advantage of Iud
youth, as amply to provide for the ease of his old aye.

119

THE THIBD DAY,

NOVEL II,

An equerry belonging to King Agilulf lies wi'.li his queen ; of
which the king making a secret discovery, set a mark upon him
by shearing the hair off his head : upon which he who was so
shorn, cut that of his fellow-servants in like manner, and so es-
caped further punishment.

Philostratus having concluded his novel, which made the la-
dies sometimes blush and sometimes smile, the queen ordered
Pampinea to follow, who began pleasantly in this manner :
There are some people so indiscreet in appearing to
know what they had better be unacquainted with, that
they think, by reproving other people's inadvertencies, to
lessen their own shame ; whereas they make that vastly greater.
This I shall show to be true, by its contrary; setting forth
the craft which a certain fellow (of no more account than
Masetto) made use of to outwit a very wise and worthy prince.
Agilulf, king of Lombardy, fixed the seat of his kingdom, as
his predecessors had done, at Pavia ; having taken to wile
Teudelinga, late queen to Vetari, who was king of Lombardy
likewise ; a beautiful and most virtuous lady, but unhappy in
having a lover. The affairs of the kingdom being now in a
prosperous way, by the good management of king Agilulf ; it
happened that one of the queen's equerries (a man of low ex-
traction, though in other respects far above the station wherein
»ie was placed ; comely and also graceful in his person as the
pdng himself) fell immoderately in love with her. His low
rank did not prevent his seeing the inconvenience with which
this passion might be attended ; therefore he was so wise as
to make a discovery of it to no one ; not even so much as, by
o 2

150 THIRD DAY.

his looks to herself. And though he lived without the Imst
hopes of ever attaining his desire, yet he could not help
glorying in having fixed his affections so high; and being

entirely captivated, he took more than ordinary earc (far beyond
the rest of his Fellow-servants) to do every thing that he

thought would please her. Whence it happened, that it' she
had a mind to ride out at any time, she oftener rode the horse

that he had the care of than any other; which he esteemed
a singular favour, never stirring from the stirrup; and could

he but touch her clothes, he was then the happiest man in the
world. But as we often see that love most violent where there
is the least probability of success, so it happened to this
groom; for his passion was such, he being without the least
hope whatever, that he often resolved, -as he was unable to
disclose it, to die. Considering in what manner, he resolved
at length that it should he done in a way to convince her
that it was for her sake ; yet he was willing first to try his for-
tune, if it were possihle, to obtain his desire, not by speaking,
or even writing to her, to make her sensible of his love (for
he knew both were to no purpose), hut choosing rather to
do it by stratagem; which was some way or other to person-
ate the king, and so to get admittance into her chamber.

In order then to see what dress and manner his majesty
used to go to the queen, he hid himself often in the night in
a great room in the palace, that was between the king's apart-
ment and that of the queen ; and one night he saw the king
come out of his chamber, wrapped in a large mantle, with a
lighted torch in one hand, and a wand in the other, and go to
the queen's lodging room, when, without speaking a word, he
would knock two or three times at the door with his s^iek,
and it was immediately opened, and the torch taken out of
his hand ; which being observed by him, and seeing the king
return in like manner, he determined to do the same. Ac-
cordingly, he procured such a mantle as that of the king, with
a torch and wand ; and having first washed himself very clean,
that the smell of the stables might not make a discovery
to the queen of what he was, he hid himself as usual till every
one was asleep, which he thought a fit time either to succi t d
ui his desires, or t.> bring upon himself, by a most daring
cause, that death he "had long wished for. Therefore he struck
a light, with which he kindled his torch, and folding himself
well in the mantle, he went to the door, rapping twice with
his stick. The door was immediately opened by a damsel
halt asleep, who took the light out of his hand, and set it in
a corner of thi' room, while he stripped oil' his mantle, and
got into the queen's In d. There he had the full gratification
oi Ins wishes, without a word being spoken on cither side (for
he knew the king's temper at certain times, and especially
when he was disturbed, was such, that he would neither speak

NOVEL II. 151

himself nor be spoken to) ; and having stayed as long as he
thought it was safe to stay, he took his mantle and torch, and
stole softly to his own bed. He was scarcely got therein,
before the king came to the queen's chamber, at which she
was much surprised, and had the boldness then to say to
him, " My lord, what is the meaning of your returning so
quickly ? It is but this moment that you left me, and then you
stayed longer than usual." The king, at hearing this, conclu-
ded that she had been imposed upon by somebody or other,
who had assumed his person and manner ; but, like a wise
man, when he found that she was entirely ignorant of it, as
well as every one else, he resolved that she should continue
so ; not like a great many simple people, who would have been
apt to say, " 1 never was with you to-night before; who was it
that was here ? How did he come ? In what manner did he
go away?" All which must have given the lady great uneasiness,
and the thing would have been in everyone's mouth ; whereas,
by his discreet silence, he avoided both the one and the
other. Seeming then more at ease in his looks and talk,
than he was really in his mind ; he said to her, " And is my
coming again to you, so soon, disagreeable ? however, I will
leave you for to-night." Being now highly incensed against
the villain that dared presume to do him that injury, he left
the room, resolving to find him out if it were possible : for
he concluded he must be in the house, as there seemed no way
for him to have got out. Taking a small light therefore in a
lantern, he went into a long chamber in his palace, which was
over the stables, where all his family lay in different beds ;
and supposing, whoever he was, that he should find a dif-
ference in the beating of his heart and pulse, he began to
examine them all from one end to the other. They were
every one asleep, except that person who had been with the
queen, who seeing the king come into the room, and sup-
posing what the occasion was, thought it best to counterfeit
sleep, and to see what he meant to do. His majesty had now
laid his hand upon many of them without finding cause to sus-
pect any one, till coming to that person, he immediately said
to himself, " This is the man." Being desirous that nobody
should know any thing of his designs, he at present did no-
thing more but just cut off, with a pair of scissors that he had
in his pocket, a part of his hair, which they wore very long
at that time, in order to know him again the next morning;
and so returned directly to his chamber. The man was wise
enough to know what was the intent of this ; therefore, with-
out delay, he took a pair of scissors which they used for
their horses, and clipping all the people's hair above their
ears in like manner, went to bed again, without being per-
ceived by any one. In the morning the king arose, and order-
ed, before the palace gates were opened, that his whole family

Jo2 THIRD DAY.

should come before him, which •• they did, stand-

ing with their heads uncovered; when he began to view them
one after another, to find out the pi rson wh imhe had marked;
and perceiving that many of them had their hair cut alike, he
began to wonder, i nd said t.> himself, "This fellow though he
low condition, i s of no common understanding." There-
fore seeing that he could in no way find out the person, with-
out making a great stir and noise; and unwilling albo to in-
cur a shame of that sort, for the sake of a little revenge; he
thought it best tu let the person know, by a word or tv\o,
that he was observed, and to admonish him for the future.
Then turning to them all, he said, u Whoever he is, let him do
so no mors; and ail go about your business." Another person

would have put them to the rack, to find OUt what would he

much better concealed, and which, when discovered what rc-
soever was taken, would, instead of Lessening, have en-
hanced the disgrace, and brought dishonour upon the lady. They
all wondered at hearing the king's words, and asking one anothei
what could be the meaning of them ; but nobody waswise enough
to understand them, except the man aimed at; who kept it to
himself as long as the king lived, never daring to run the like
risk any more.

15

THE TH1ED DAY

NOVEL III.

A lady, under pretence of confessing, and a pure conscience, being
in love with a young gentleman, makes a sanctified friar bring
them together, without his knowing any thing of her intention.

The boldness and great subtlety of the groom were as much com-
mended, as the king's extraordinary discretion ; when the queen
turning to Philomena, bade her follow, who began pleasantly in
this manner ; —

I design to acquaint you with a trick, that a certain lady
put upon a friar, which will be so much more agreeable to us
lay-people, as they are a set of folks who think themselves both
better and wiser than other people ; whereas it is quite other-
wise, they being for the most part such persons as are unable
to raise themselves in the world, and therefore take shelter in
places where they may be maintained in laziness and luxury.
This then I shall do, not so much out of compliance with the
order enjoined me, as to shew you, that even the religious them-
selves, to whom we over credulous women yield too implicit a
faith, may be, and often are, tricked and imposed on, not by the
men only, but even by us,

In our city (more full of craft and deceit, than friendship and
faithful dealing) there lived not long since a lady, whose beauty
and good behaviour made her equal to most of her sex ; her
name, as well as that of every other person concerned in this
novel, 1 shall beg leave to conceal, out of regard to some persons
that might be offended, who may now pass it over with a smile ;
this lady, I say, knowing herself to be nobly descended, and
being married to a tradesman, who was a clothier, she could by
no means bring down her spirit, which made her deem a man of

154 THIRD DAY.

that rank, however rich he was, as unworthy of a gentlewoman ;
and observing that he had not the least understanding in any
thingoutof his own business, she determined not to admit of
his embraces any farther than she was obliged, but to make
choice of a gallant that should be more worthy of her. Accord-
ingly she fell in love with a gentleman, of suitable years, to that
degree, that unless she saw him every day she could get no rest
at night. But he, knowing nothing of the matter, had not
the least regard to her ; whilst she was so cautious, that she
would neither trust to letters nor messages for fear of danger;
and knowing that he was much acquainted with a certain friar,
one of a gross person, yet esteemed by all as a very religious
man, she judged that he would be the. fittest agent to go be-
tween her ami her lover. After thinking which would be thepro-
perest method to take, she went one day to that church to which
he belonged, and having called him aside she told him that
when he was at leisure she had a mind to confess.

The friar, seeing her to be a person of distinction imme-
diately gave leave, and when that was over, she said, " 1 am
come to you father, for your advice and assistance. I have in-
formed you of my relations and my husband, who loves me more
than his own lite, and who, as he is very rich, obliges me in
everything that I ask for; for which reason 1 love him more
than I do myself; but setting apart what I woidd do for him,
were I capable so much as harbouring a thought which should
becontraryto his honourand will, I should judge nowomanniore
deserving of death than myself. Now there is a person whose
name I am a stranger to, but who seems to be of some figure
and, if I mistake not, an acquaintance of yours, a well-looking
man, with brown clothes ; who being unacquainted perhaps,
with my upright intentions, seems to lay constant wait for me ;
nor can 1 stir out of doors, or so much as to the window,
but he is always there ; I wonder he is not after me now;
which gives me infinite concern, because such things often bring
scandal upon us. Sometimes I have thoughts of letting my bro-
thers know ; but then I consider that men frequently deliver
messages in such a manner, that words ensue, and from words,
blows; therefore, to prevent both scandal and mischief, I hive
hitherto held my tongue, resolving to acquaint you, rather than
any other person, both because you are his friend, and as it is
sour duty to correct such abuses, not only in friends, but also in
strangers. I ill treat youthen, for God's sake, that you would
exhort him to leave off those ways; thereare other ladies enough,
who may be of that Btamp, and would be proud of a gallant;
but 1 am another 60X1 of person, and such a thing gives me
the greatest uneasiness." Having said this, she hung down her
head, as if she was going to weep. The holy fathei immediately
understood who the person she meant was; and having com-
mended her for her good disposition, believing it was all true

NOVEL III, 155

that she said, he promised to take care that she should have no
more disturbance of that kind ; and knowing her to Lie rich ; re-
commended works of charity, and alms-giving to her, mention-
ing his own particular necessities. The lady then said, " I beg of
you sir, if he should deny it, to tell him without any scruple,
that 1 informed you myself, and am very uneasy about it."
Having now confessed, and remembering what he had told he-
concerning charity, she put a sum of money into his hand,
desiring he would say mass for the souls of her deceased friends ;
and rising from his feet, she departed to her own house. In some
little time, the gentleman came, according to custom, to the friar;
who after talking awhile to him upon indifferent matters, took
him aside, and reproved him in a gentle manner, for his design
upon the lady; he was much surprised, having never taken
any notice of her, and but seldom passed by the house, and
would have excused himself, but the other would not sutler him ;
and said, " Never pretend to be surprised, nor spend your breath
in denying it, for it is to no manner of purpose; this is no common
report, she herself told me, such behaviour is very unbecoming
in you ; and let me tell you, if there is a woman in the world
averse to such follies, it is she ; therefore, for her comfort and your
credit, I exhort you to refrain, and let her live in quiet." The
gentleman, more quick of apprehension than the friar, easily
took the lady's meaning ; and seeming to be out of countenance,
promised to concern himself with her no more ; accordingly,
he took his leave, and went directly towards the lady's house,who
was generally looking out for him at the window, and who now
appeared so gracious and well pleased at the sight of him,
that he found himself not mistaken ; and from that time he
used frequently to pa?s that way, under the pretence of other
business, to her great satisfaction. In some time when the
lady perceived that she was as agreeable to him, as he had
been to her, and being willing to give him some farther proofs
of her affection, she returned to the friar, and throwing her-
self at his feet in the church, she began to lament most greiv-
ously. He seeing this, asked with a great deal of concern,
what newaccident had happened ? When she replied," It is only
that cursed friend of yours, whom I complained to you of the other
day ; I think in my conscience, he is born to be a perpetual
plague to me and to make me do what I should never think of other-
wise ; nor shall I ever dare afterwards to lay myself at your feet."
i( What," said the friar, " and does he continue still to give you
trouble ?" — " Indeed sir," quoth she, " since I have made my
complaint to you, he seems to do it out of mere spite ; and for
once that he used to come this way before, he now passes at
least seven times. And would to God those walks, and wanton
gazings would content him; for he is now grown so audacious and
impudent, that no longer since than yesterday, he sent a woman
to my house with his nonsense; and as if I had wanted purses

15G WOVEL III.

and girdles, he sent me a purse and girdle ; at which I was, and
am still so much offended, that had not the fear of God and re-
gard to you prevented me, I had certainly done some wicked
thing or other, lint I kept my temper, nor would I do or say
anything till 1 had first made you acquainted. .Moreover,
haring returned those things to the woman that brought them,
with the intent that she should carry them hack; ami after
giving her an angry farewell, fearing afterwards lest she might
keep them herself, and tell him I had received them, as I am
told those people often do, I called her hack, and took them
out of her hand in great rage ; and have now brought them to
you, that you may give them to him again, and tell him, that
I want nothing- that belongs to him; for, thank God and my
husband, I have purses ami girdles enough. Therefore, good
father, I now tell you, that if he does not desist, I v. ill im-
mediately acquaint my husband and my brothers; for happen
what will, I had much rather that he should suffer, if it must he
so, than that myself should bear any blame on his account."

Having said this, she took a rich purse and girdle from un-
der her gown, shedding abundance of tears, and threw them into
. the friar's lap ; who believing all she had told him, was disturb-
ed beyond measure, and said, " I do not wonder daughter, that
you make yourself uneasy for these things, nor can I blame you ;
but I much commend you for following my instructions. 1 re-
proved him the other day, and he has ill performed what he pro-
mised ; however, I will give him such a reprimand for what he has
done before, and now also, that he shall be no more a plague
to you; for Heaven's sake then, do not suffer yourself to be
hurried away by passion, so as to tell any one ; because it may
be of bad consequence. Never fear any blame to yourself, for I
will bear a testimony of your virtue to both God and man."

The lady seemed now to be a little comforted ; and leaving
this discourse, as well knowing the avarice of him and his bre-
thren, she said, " Holy father, for some nights past, many of my
relations have appeared to me in a vision, demanding alms:
especially my mother, who seemed to be in such affliction, that
it was terrible to behold; I believe it is her concern to see
me in all this trouble, through thismost wicked fellow; therefore
I desire, for the sake of their souls, that you would say the forty
masses of St. Gregory, that (iod may deliver them from that
fiery penance ;" and hiving said this, she put into his hand a
florin of gold. The holy father received it very cheerfully,
confirming her devotion by goods words and divers examples,
and having give lnr his blessing, let her depart. When she
was gone, never thinking how he was imposed upon, he sent for
his friend ; who finding him a little out of temper, supposed In-
had been discoursing with the lady, and he waited to hear
what he would say; who accordingly began with his former
reproofs, chiding him severely for what the lady had now

THIRD DAY. 157

complained of, concerning' his offered present. ' The honect
gentleman, who as yet could not guess where all this tended,
seemed faintly to deny his sending a purse and girdle, that he
might not he entirely discredited by the good man, if it should
have happened that the lady had given him any such thing ;
at which the friar, in a good deal of passion said, " How can you
deny it, you wicked man ? Behold, here it is ; she herself
brought it me with tears ; see if you know it again. The gentle-
man appeared quite ashamed, and said, "Yes, indeed 1 know
it ; I confess I have done very ill, and I promise you, now I
know her disposition, that you shall have no more complaints
upon that score. After many such words, the simple friar gave him
the purse and girdle ; and exhorting him to do so no more, let
him go about his business. The gentleman, now convinced of
the lady's good-will towards him, and that this was her present,
went overjoyed to a place where he might obtain the sight of her,
and shewed her both purse and girdle, which gave her great
satisfaction, as her scheme seemed now to take effect. As no-
thing was at present wanting to complete it but the husband's
absence, it fell out soon after, that he was obliged to go to Genoa;
and no sooner had he mounted his horse, and was departed, but
she went again to the holy man, and after making great com-
plaints and lamentations, she said, "Good father, 1 tell you
plainly that I can no longer suffer this ; but as I promised to do
nothing without first consulting you, I am come to excuse myself
to you ; and to convince you that I have great reason to be uneasy,
I will tell you what your friend, that devil incarnate, did this
very morning. I know not by what ill fortune he came to know
that my husband went to Genoa yesterday, but so it is ; this
morning he came into my garden, and got upon a tree to my win-
dow, that looks into the garden ; which he opened, and would
have come into the chamber, when I arose, and was beginning
to cry out, and should have done so, had he not begged of me, for
Heaven's sake and your's, to be merciful ; telling me who he
was ; upon which I ran and shut the window. Now judge you
if these things are to be endured ; it is upon your account only,
that I have suffered them so long. The friar was the most uneasy
man in the world at hearing this ; " And are you sure," said he,
" that it was that person, and no other ?" "Bless*me!" quoth
she, " do you think I could be so mistaken ? I tell you it was he ;
and if he should deny it, don't believe him." " Daughter, "quoth
the friar, " I can say no more than it was a most vile, audacious
action, and you have done your duty ; but I beg of you, as
God has preserved you hitherto from dishonour, and you have,
followed my advice twice before, that you would do so now ;
leave it then to me, without saying a word to any of your re-
lations, and see if I cannot manage this devil unchained, whom
I always took for a saint. If I can reclaim him from this
lewdness, it will be well ; if not, along with my benediction,
p

158 NOVEL lit

shall give you leave to do as you shall think most proper."
" For this once, then,'' quoth she, " I will give no trouble, but
do you take rare that ho he not offensive for the time to come,
fur I promise you to come no more upon this account ;" and
without more words, she went away, seemingly very uneasy.
She was scarcely got out of the church, hut in came the gentle-
man, when he took him aside, using all the opprohrious lan-
guage that could he used to a man, calling him both villian
and traitor ; whilst he who had undergone tin se rehukes twice
before, stood in great perplexity, waiting for him to speak first ;
hut at last he said, " Why, what have 1 done to deserve this
treatment ?" When the friar replied, " Mark the impudence
of the fellow! he speaks neither better nor worse, than if these
things had happened some years ago, and were now out of
his mind. Tray, have you forgotten whom you injured this
morning ? Where were you a little before day-break .'" " That
1 cannot tell," replied the other ; " but you soon heard of it,
wherever I was." " You say right," quoth he, " I did hear
of it; I suppose you thought yourself sure, now the husband
is from home. Avery pretty fellow truly! he gets into peo-
ple's gardens in the night, and climbs up the walls by the help
of the trees! You think, 1 suppose, that you shall be able to
seduce the lady by your importunity, that you get up
to the windows at nights in that manner. There is nothing
she so much detests as yourself, and yet you will persist. Truly,
you are much the better for what has been said to you ; but
1 assure you, she has hitherto held her peace purely at my
request, and not out of the least regard to you; but she will
conceal it no longer ; and I have now consented, if you give
her any farther disturbance, to let her take her own course.
What would become of you, should she tell her brothers of it ?"
The honest man now perceived what he had to do, and having
quieted the friar with large promises, took his leave, and the
following night got into the garden, and so up by the tree
into the window, which was open, and where the lady stood
expecting him. She received him with much joy, giving many
thanks to the holy fuller for shewing him the way ; and from
that time they had frequent opportunities of being together,
without standing in any farther need of such a mediator.

159

THE THIBD DAY.

NOVEL IV.

A young scholar, named Felix, teaches one Puecio how he may In
saved, by 'performing a penance which lie shews him : this he

puts into execution ; and in the mean time, Felix amuses him-
self with his wife.

When Philomena had finished her story, which was much
commended by Dioneus, the queen, casting her eyes on Pam-
philus, said ; " Do you continue this amusement by some story
that shall be agreeable." He replied, that he was very wil-
ling, and began thus ; —

Some people there are, who, whilst they endeavour to get
to heaven themselves, inadvertently send others thither ; which
was the case of a neighbour of ours, as you shall hear. Near
to St. Brancazio, as I am informed, there lived an honest man,
and one of good substance, whose name was Puecio di Rinieri,
who being spiritually minded, and having much converse
with the Franciscans, was usually called Friar Puecio. This
man, I say, regarding only his religious affairs, and having no
family besides a wife, and a maid-servant, used to be constantly
at church, spending his whole time in saying his Pater N osters.
hearing sermons, and going to masses ; and for fasting and
all kinds of holy discipline, he was as devout as the best.
His wife, whose name was Isabella, a lady of about twenty-eight
years of age, and as fresh as a rose, was sick of all this fasting,
and would gladly have been at rest many times, when he
was recounting to her the holy life of our Lord, the preach-
ings of Father Anastasius, and the lamentations of Mary
Magdalen. Now at that time there returned from Paris a
monk belonging to the convent of St. Brancazio, a comely
young man, of good parts and learning, with whom our Puecio

160 NOVEL IV.

contracted an acquaintance ; and being able to solve .nil his
scruples, and appearing to bo very religious, Friar Puccio
would frequently invite him to his house, both to dine and
sup, whilst his wife shewed him great civility on her hus-
band's account.

Coming often to the house in thi-< manner, he soon cast
his eve upon Puccio's wife, and as he perceived himself no
wav disagreeable to her, he took the first opportunity of ma-
king a discovers- of his inclinations; but though he found her
disposed to a compliance, he could in no way contrive the
means, for she would go no where out of her own house, ami
there it could not be, for Puccio was never fir from home,
which threw him into a kind of despair. At last it came into
his head how the thing might be carried on in the house with-
out any suspicion, though the husband was there all the time;
and being one day together, he spoke to Puccio in this man-
ner; " I understand, brother Puccio, that all your desire is to
become holy, but it seems to me as if you took quite a round-
about way, whilst there is a much shorter path, which the
pope and the other great prelates know and follow, yet are un-
willing it should be divulged, for the sake of the clergy,
that live chiefly on the charities of the people, who then
would have no farther need to give them alms. Now as you
are my friend, and have entertained me well at your house, if
I thought you would tell no person, and would regard it, I
should reveal it to you." Puccio was extremely impatient
to know the secret, swearing by all that was sacred, never to
divulge it without his consent, and promising if possible to
observe it. " As you make this promise," quoth the other,
" I will tell you. You must understand then, that the holy
doctors of the church maintain, that penance in the manner
I am going to lay down, is necessary to happiness. Hut
take notice, I do not say that, after this penance, you will be
no more capable of sinning. No; all the sins committed be-
fore that time shall be forgiven, and the sins afterwards shall not
be numbered to your damnation ; but you may wash them away
with holy water, like other venial sins. A man then must
begin this penance by a strict confession ol' all his sins; after
which fasting ami abstinence are necessary for forty days;
during which space you must refrain even from your own wife,
besides this, you must have some place in your own house
where you may look towards heaven all night long. Thither
you are to go in the evening, where a table i^ to hi' fixed
in such a manner, that as you stand upon your feet, the small
of your back must lean upon it, whilst your arms are exten-
ded like a crucifix ; and if you can make them reach to
any peg of wood, it is so much the better. In this manner
you arc to ga/.c towards heaven, without altering your posture
till the morning; and if you had been a scholar, you should

THIRD DAY.

161

have repeated some prayers which I would have taught you,
Dut as you are not, you must say three hundred Pater Nos-
ters, with so many Ave Marias, in honour of the Trinity ; and
tixing your eyes upon heaven, you are still to remember God,
the Creator of heaven and earth, and to bear in mind Christ's
passion, standing in the manner that he was nailed to the
cross ; and when the bell sounds in the morning, you may
throw yourself upon your bed to sleep. You must after-
wards go to church, and hear three masses at least, and say
fifty Pater Nosters and the like number of Ave Marias ; and
when this is done, you may go fairly and honestly about any
business you shall have to do ; afterwards get your din-
ner, and be at church in the evening, where you must say a
few prayers which I shall give you in writing, without which
all would signify nothing; and in the evening return as
before ; and if you follow this method, as I have formerly
done, I hope, before the expiration of your penance, that
you will perceive wonderful things of the eternal beati-
tudes, supposing at the same time, that you are thoroughly
devout." Puccio then replied. " This is no such long and
grievous affair, and with God's permission T will begin next
Sunday," and taking his leave, he went and related the whole
to his wife ; she immediately understood what the meaning
was of his standing in that place till the morning, and made
answer, " That she was satisfied with that, or anything else
that he should do for the good of his soul ; and to ren-
der his penance more effectual, she meant to keep him com-
pany with fasting, but with nothing else;" so far they were
agreed; and when Sunday came, he entered upon his course,
whilst the monk came every evening to sup with her, bringing
with him plenty of meat and drink, and he stayed with her al-
ways till morning, when it was Puccio's time to come to bed.
Now the room that he had fixed upon for his penance was next to
that where the lady lay ; and one night having just got through
a hundred of his Pater Nosters, he thought he heard some-
thing of a noise in the next room ; and making a full stop
there, he called out to know what was the meaning of it. She
made answer and said, laughing to herself, " You know very
well I can never sleep when I go to bed fasting ; and that is
the case now." Poor Puccio imagined that her not sleeping
was really occasioned by her going to bed without her supper ;
therefore he said, very honestly and kindly to her, " I have
always bid you not to fast ; but since you would do it, even try
and rest as well as you can." She replied, " Do you take care
of the affair you are now upon, never fear but I shall do
well enough." In this manner they went on, during the whole
time of penance, and they contrived means of being frequently
together afterwards ; so that, to make my' first and lasf words
agree, whilst Puocio was aiming only to get to heaven him-
self, caused the monk and the lady to be very happy.

162

THE TU111D DAY.

NOVEL V.

Ricciardo, surnamed the Beau, makes a present of a fine horse to
Francisco Vergellesi, upon condition that lie should hare tlie
liberty of speaking to his wife', and she malting him no reply,
he answers for her, which accordingly has its effects.

The ladies all smiled at Pamphilus's story, when the queen laid
her next commands upon Eliza, who began pretty smartly,
according to her usual manner, to this effect ; —

There are many people who know so much, that they think
others know nothing at all ; and who whilst they are d( signing to
overreach others, are themselves outwitted; therefore, 1 hold
that person very unwise, who puts another man's wits to the
test, without any occasion; but as all of you may not be of
my opinion, I will tell you what happened to a knight of l'is-
toia.

In the town of Pistoia there lived, not long since, a knight
named Francisco, of the family of the Vergellesi; a rich and
prudent man in all respects, but covetous beyond measure,
who being made provost of the city of Milan, and having fur-
nished himself with every thing necessary for such a high office,
excepting a fine horse, he was at a loss where to meet with
one that should please him. In the same town lived also a
young gentleman, called Ricciardo, of no gnat family, but
rich enough; a person so neat always and exact in his dress,
that he was called the Beau; and who had long admired and
followed the lady Francisco, but hitherto without success.
Now he was possessed of one of tlie most beautiful horses in all
Tuscany, Which he set a high value upon; but as it was known
what a respect he bore towards Francisco's wife. Franc ibeo

NOVEL IV. 163

was given to understand, that if he would ask it of him, the
other would gladly make him a present of the horse upon
that account. He therefore, moved bj his avarice, requested
the Beau to sell him his horse, expecting at the same time,
that he should receive him as a gift. The other was much
pleased with this, and said, " Sir, all you have in the world
could not purchase the horse ; but you may have him for no-
thing, provided I may first have leave to say a word or two to
your wife in your presence, at such a distance from every one
that I may not be overheard. Francisco, overswayed by his
covetous temper, and thinking to make jest of the other, an-
swered, that he was willing, as soon as he pleased; and leaving
him in the hall, he went up stairs to his wife, to tell her how
easily he was going to get the horse; and to enjoin her to hear
what the beau had to say, but to make him no answer, little
or much. She blamed him for it, but being bound to obey,
she went with him into the' hall, to hear what the other had
to offer; who taking her to the farthest part of the room, be-
gan in this manner; " I make no doubt, most worthy lady,
but that you have long perceived how great a slave I am to
the force of your beauty, which far exceeds that of all the
ladies I ever beheld : not to mention your personal accom-
plishments, enough to vanquish the most resolute and insensi •
ble of men ; therefore it would be needless to tell you, by
words, that my love is the most fervent that a man can possi-
bly have for a woman ; and so it shall continue whifet life
shall actuate these frail limbs ; and even to eternity, if we love
in the next world as we do in this. Be assured then, that
you an call nothing your own, so much as me and mine;
and to give you proofs of this, I should take it as a singu-
lar favour, if you would command me such a service as it is
possible for me to perform, seeing there is nothing I should
refuse for your sake. To you therefore whose I am, and on
whom all my peace and happiness depend, I address myself
for relief; humbly hoping, as I am wounded to the heart by
your beauty, that your merciful goodness will not suffer me to
perish. For suppose I should die, you could not help say-
ing to yourself, Alas ! why did I not shew some pity to
my poor beau. Which remorse would be greatly to your
disquiet ; think therefore, before it be too late ; for it is in
your power to make me either the happiest or most miserable
of men. I hope however, that the love I bear you will not be
rewarded with death •; but that you will speak one word of com-
fort to raise my drooping spirits, which ar@ ready to take
flight, whilst I am now before you." Here he ended, and
with tears streaming: from his eyes, and fetching some
deep sighs, sat expecting the lady's answer ; whilst she, who
had been hitherto unmoved, notwithstanding all his tilts,
balls, serenades, and such-like gallantries, was now heartily

164 THIRD DAY.

aiFccted with his last most tender expressions; and began
to feel that passion to which she had been hitherto a stran-
ger ; and though she was silent out of regard to her bus-
band's commands, yet could she not avoid disclosing hy her
sighs, what she had much rather have declared hy words.

The beau having waited some time, and finding she made
no answer, at first wondered very much ; bin he soon began
to suspect that it was a trick of her husband's; and looking
earnestly at her, and observing the sparkling cf her eyes, cast
now and then towards him, and some secret sobbings which
she strove in vain to stifle; be began to take courage, and im-
mediately hit on a new method, namely, to answer himself
in the same manner as if she had spoken ; which be did
to this effect : — " Dear sir, I have most assuredly been a
long witness of the great love you bear towards me, and
am now farther convinced of it from your words, with which
I am well satisfied, as indeed, I ought ; and if I appear
displeased or hard-hearted, do not imagine that I was really
so; I always loved you far beyond every other person, but
that behaviour-was necessary, for fearof other people, and topre-
serve my own character ; the time is now come that I have
it in my power to repay your love ; then have a good heart ;
in a few days my husband goes to be provost at Milan, and as
you have given him your favourite horse for my sake, I promise
you upon my word, that then you shall have admittance, and
(that I may have no occasion to speak to you again upon the
subject, till the very time) take notice, that as soon as you
shall perceive two handkerchiefs hanging out of the window,
which looks towards the garden be careful nobody sees you,
and come to me through the door into the garden, where I
shall be expecting you. Having said this, as for the lady, he
answered in his own person as follows: — " Dear madam, I run
so transported with your reply, that I scarcely know how to
return you due thanks; but were I able, no time would be
suthcient to do it in the manner I could wish, and as I ought ;
I leave it therefore for you to imagine, as I find it impossible to
be described ; you may depend however, on my being punc-
tual to what you have proposed, and I shall always have a due
sense of the great favour conferred upon me. Nothing now
remains, my dearest love, but till that time to bid you adieu."
Notwithstanding all that he had spoken, she said not one
word; upon which he arose, and made toward the knight, who
was coming to meet him ; and said to him with a. smile," Well
what think you, sir, have I performed my promise or not !"
— ".By no means (answered he) for you promised I should
speak to your lady, and you have given me a statue to talk
to." 'J he kniglit was much pleased with this, and if he had
a good opinion <>i' his lady before, lie bad now a better. After-
wards he said, " You allow, 1 suppose, that the hoise is mine."

NOVEL V. 165

The beau replied, " most certainly, I do; but could I have
thought no better success would have ensued on the bargain,
I would have given him without any consideration; for as it
is, you have bought him, and I not sold him." The
knight laughed heartily, and being now provided with
a horse, he set out, in a few days, for Milan, when he
entered upon his office. The lady being then at liberty, began
to think a little of the beau's words, and the regard he had
for her ; and seeing him often pass by her house, she said to
herself, " What am I about I Why do I lose all this time i
My husband is at Milan, and will not return these six months,
and when shall I meet with such another lover ? There is
none here that I'need be afraid of. I do not see why I may
not make use of the opportunity, whilst I may have it. No-
body will know it, or if they should, it is better to doit and re-
pent, than to repent and not to do it." Having therefore re-
solved, she put two handkerchiefs out of the window, as the beau
had said. This he saw with a great deal of joy, and that very
night went privately to the garden-door, which was open, as
was also the door into the house, where he found the lady
waiting for him ; and though this was their first meeting, it
was not the last, for during the husband's absence at Mi-
lan, and even after his return, they found means of being fre-
quently together, to the mutual joy of both parties.

lfifi

THIED DAY.

NOVEL VI.

Ricciardo Minutolo, is in love u-iih the wife of Philippello Fighi-
nolfi\ and Icnowing her to be jealous of her husband, makes her
believe that he iras to meet his wife that night at a bagnio.
Accordingly she goes thitlier ; and, imagining she had been
with her husband all the tune, finds herself at last with Ricci-
ardo.

Eliza had now concluded her story ; and having commen-
ded the heau's ingenuity, tne queen laid the next charge
upon Flametta, who hegan with a smile, as follows; —

It may lie convenient to quit our own city at present,
which as it abounds in everything, is no less fruitful in ex-
amples relating to most subjects; and to recount, as Eliza
has done, what has come to pass in other countries; there-
fore, passing over to Naples, I shall set forth how one of
those sanctified ladies, who seemed averse to all love intrigues,
was by the dexterous management of her lover, brought
to taste the fruits of love, before she had known the flower of
it ; which will both divert you as to what is already past, and
caution you in certain points, for the time to come.

There lived at Naples, one of the most ancient and plea-
sant cities in all Italy, a young gentleman of great wealth,
as well as nobly descended, called Ricciardo Minutolo; who,
notwithstanding he had a beautiful lady for his wile, was ena-
moured of another, who was thought to surpass all the wo-
men in Naples, and was called Catella, being the wile of a
young gentleman named Philippello Fighinolfj whom she
loved and valued above all tilings. Now Ricciardo being
in love with this lady, am! doing every tiling which he thought

NOVEL VI. 167

might gain her affections, but to no manner of purpose, he
fell into despair ; and as he was unable to get the ascendancy
over his passion, he had no pleasure in living, at the same
time that he knew not how to die. Continuing in this dis-
position, he was one day advised by the ladies of his acquain-
tance, to give it over as a vain pursuit, seeing that Catella
regarded nothing so much as her own husband, of whom she
had that entire jealousy, that she was fearful of every bird
that flew over his head, lest it might snatch him from her.
Ricciardo hearing of this jealous disposition, began now to
conceive hopes of success ; and making a pretence of lay-
ing all such views aside, he gave it out, that he had taken
a fancy to another lady, towards whom he used some gal-
lantries as he had before done to Catella; and in a little time
it was universally believed, that it was no longer Catella that
he fancied, but this second lady ; insomuch, that she began
now to put off that reservedness which had hitherto appeared
in her behaviour, and to shew the same openness and affa-
bility to him, as to her other neighbours. Now it happened,
the season of the year being sultry, that some companies of
gentlemen and ladies went to divert themselves on the sea-
shore, where they were to dine and sup ; and Kicciardo know-
ing that Catella was gone thither with a party of people, he
went likewise with a set of his friends ; and, after much
importuning, as if he was not fond of continuing there, he
was persuaded to join companies with Catella and her friends ;
there they all began to banter him concerning this new love
of his, whilst he seemed so much affected with it, that they
talked the more upon that subject. At length, being disper-
sed up and down, as is usual in those places, and Catella
remaining only with a few friends where Ricciardo was, he
threw in a word, as it were, relating to an intrigue of her hus-
band's, which gave her a violent fit of jealousy, and she grew
extremely impatient to know the truth of it; in a little
time therefore, she began to entreat Ricciardo, that for the
sake of the lady whom he loved most, he would make that
matter clear to her, relating to Philippello. " You have con-
jured me," he replied, "by a person, on whose account I can
refuse nothing that is asked me, only you must promise never
to speak a word to him, or any other person about it, till you
find it really so, which I will shew you how you may be satis-
fied of, as soon as you please." She was now more strongly
possessed of the truth of it, and promised to be silent. Ta-
king her then apart, that they might not be overheard, he
thus addressed her ; "Madam if I now loved you in the man-
ner I formerly did, I could not endure to tell you what must
occasion so much uneasiness; but as that is at an end, I shall
be less fearful of making a full discovery. I do not know whe-
ther your husband was provoked at my loving you ; or whe-

108 THIRD DAY.

tlier lie had any suspicion of my being respected by you;
but be this as it will, he has taken an opportunity, when 1
had the least cause to he jealous, of attempting to do by me,
what he might Buspect I meant to do to him ; namely, to se-
duce my wife; for which purpose he has tried frequent mes-
sages, with which she has constantly made me acquainted ;
and returned such answers to them as I directed her ; and
this very morning I found a woman in close conference
with her, and imagining who she was, I asked my wife what
the woman wanted. When she told me that she came from
Philippello; 'who from such answers,' continued she, 'as
you have made me send, from time to time, begins to have
hopes of prevailing; and he now says that he wants me to
come to a resolution, and that he can so order it, that we
may meet privately at a bagnio; and he begs and entreats me
most earnestly to he there; and were it not that you have made
me hold him in suspense with such frivolous answers, I should
have dealt with him in such a manner, that he should never
have troubled me more.' 1 bore all the rest patiently, but
now he has proceeded too far, and accordingly I resolved
to tell you, that you might see how he has rewarded your
most faithful love, for which I was just at death's door ; but
lest you should think this all groundless, and that yourself
may be an eye-witness of it, I ordered her to tell the woman
that she would meet him there at nine o'clock, when every-
body would be asleep ; with which answer she went away
well pleased. Now 1 woidd not have you suppose that I
intend to send her thither; but were I in your place, I
should go instead of her, and after you have been some
time together, I would then make a discovery of myself to
him; by which means you will shame him from being ever
guilty of the like practices hereafter, and at the same time,
prevent the injury which is designed both to yourself ami me."

Catella, without considering who it was that told her this,
or what his designs might be, gave credit to it, as jealous peo-
ple usually do to such-like stories, and calling to mind other
circumstances to confirm it, she said, with a great deal of
passion, that she would certainly do so, and that she would so
confound him, that he should never dare to look women
in the lace more.

Ricciardo was highly pleased, and now thinking that his
scheme was likely to take effect, he confirmed her in that re-
solution ; desiring her nevertheless not to mention what she had
heard, which she accordingly promised. The next morn-
ing then, he went to the woman who kept the bagnio, which
he had mentioned to Catella, and begged her assistance
in the affair, which she easily agreed to ; and they contrived
how it might he best effected. There was a dark room in the
house, where she made up a bed, as he had directed her, and

NOVEL VI. 169

as soon as he had dined he went thither to wait for Catella ;
whilst she, giving more credit to his words than she onght,
returned home full of spleen ; when it happened, hy chance,
that Philipello came home likewise very thoughtful, and per-
haps might not shew that fondness towards her that he usually
did, which made her suspect the more ; and. she said to her-
self, "Truly he is taken up with thinking of the lady whom
he is to meet to-morrow, hut I will prevent it ;" and she was
considering all night long what she should say to him at their
meeting. In a word, at nine o'clock she took a friend with
her, and went directly to the bagnio, and seeing the good
woman, she inquired if Philipello was there. She having
learned the lesson from Ricciardo, said, "Are you the lady
that is to speak to him here?" Catella answered, "I am:"
''Then," said she, "go in there." Catella, who went to seek
what she would not willingly have found, was conducted into
the room where Ricciardo lay ; her face being covered with
a veil, and she made fast the door, whilst he arose and went
to meet her, saying, with a low voice, "My dear, I am glad to
see vou." In the mean time she made no answer, for fear
of a discovery. At length, when she thought it a proper time
to shew her resentment, she broke out in the following man-
ner; "Miserable women as we are ! How ill placed is the love
that we bear to our husbands ! For these eight years have I
loved you more than my whole life ; whilst you, most wicked
man, give yourself up entirely to another woman.
Whom do you think you are now with ? You are with
her whom you have so often deceived with your false flatteries,
pretending affection, when you have placed it elsewhere. You
villian, I am Catella, and not Ricciardo's wife. Do you know
my voice or not? I am, I tell you ; and I think it long till I
bring you into the light, to confound you with shame as you
deserve. Alas! whom have I loved in this manner for so many
years! Who, but this wretch, who supposing himself in
bed with another woman, hath shewed more fondness than he
ever did to me since we were married. Why do not you answer,
you villain ? Are you struck dumb with what I have said ?
I have a good mind to pull your eyes out of your head. You
thought it had been all a secret; but you are mistaken."
Ricciardo was pleased at hearing these words, and returned
no answer but by his caresses; whilst she, resuming her com-
plaints, said, " If you think to wheedle me in this mariner you
are mistaken : I will never rest till 1 have exposed you to
all our neighbours and friends. Am I not as handsome as the
wife of Ricciardo ? Am I not as good a gentlewoman as she !
Hands off; touch me not. I know full well that your fondness
since I have made the discovery, is all forced; but if I live you
shall repent it. I see no reason why I should not send to Ric-
ciardo who once entirely loved me, and yet could never boast
Q

170 THIRD DAY.

that I vouchsafed to give him one kind look; and who knows
what mischief may then ensue ! You thought you had been with

his wife all this time, and you arc equally guilty as if you
really had ; therefore, were I to prove criminal with him, you
could not blame inc." Her complaints were long and out-
rageous ; till at length he began to think that if she was suf-
fered to depart in this mood, it might he of had conse-
quence, therefore he resolved to undeceive her; and holding
her so fast in his arms, that she could not get away, he said
to her, " My life, do not make yourself uneasy, that which 1
could not have by dint of love, I have obtained by stratagem;
1 am your Ricciardo." She hearing this, and knowing bis voice
would have leaped out of bed, hut could not ; and as she was
going to cry out, he laid his hand upon her mouth, and said,
" Madam, what has been now done cannot be undone again,
were you to cry all your life long; and if it be made public by
any means, two things must happen. The first, which is of great
concern to you, is that your honour and good name will be
called in question ; for though you should allege your being
deceived, I will contradict it, and say that you came hither
for reward, and because I would not give you as much as
you expected, for that reason you made all this disturbance ;
and you know that people are always more ready to believe
what is bad, than what is good, of another, on which account
my story would find the most credit. In the second place,
a mortal enmity must ensue betwixt me and your husband; and
things may be carried so far, that he may kill me, or I him,
which would give you great uneasiness; therefore, my dear-
est life, do not lessen yourself and make mischief between us.
You are not the first, nor will be the last, that is imposed upon.
It is not to deprive you of your honour, but it is the abun-
dant regard 1 have for you that has put me upon using this de-
vice; and from henceforth myself and afi I am worth, shall
be at your service ; as you are discreet then in other things. I
hope you will be so in this." She expressed the utmost
grief whilst he was speaking these words ; but yet she listened
so far to what he said, as to be convinced that it was rea-
sonable ; when she replied, "I do not know how Cod will en-
able me to bear both the injury and the trick you have put
upon me ; I will make no noise here, where I have been brought
by my own foolishness and over great jealousy ; but this you
may 'depend upon, that I shall never be at quiet till I see
myself revenged in one way or other ; therefore let me go; you
have gained your point, and have done what you pleased ; it is
time to leave me, leave me thru I beseech you." Hiceiardo,
who saw the anguish of her heart, bad resolved not to part
with her before he male peace: using all the kind and tend-
er expressions he could think of to mollify her; and he pre-
vailed so far al last, that her forme insensibility was turw J
into extreme Jove.

171

THE SECOND DAY,

NOVEL VII.

Tedaldo, having a misunderstanding with his mistress, leaves
Florence: he returns thither afterwards in the habit of a pil-
grim, and makes himself knoivn to her ; when he convmces her
of Iter mistake, and saves her husband from being put to death
for his murder, for which he had been condemned. He then
reconciles him to his brethren, and lives upon good terms with
her for the future.

Flametta, who, having been commended by all, was now
silent ; when to prevent loss of time, the queen gave immediate
orders to Emilia, who began thus : —

I choose to return to our own city, which the two ladies who
spoke last, had departed from ; and to relate how one of our
own citizens regained his lost mistress.

There lived at Florence a young nobleman, called Tedaldo,
who being in love with a lady named Monna Ermellina, wife to
one Aldobrandino Palermini, was, on account of his good quali-
ties, deserving of success. But ill fortune was still in his way,
for after the lady shewed a liking to him, all at once she re-
fused to see him, and would receive no more messages from him,
which threw him into utter despair ; but as his love was a secret,
the cause of his melancholy was unknown. Divers means were
used to regain the love, which had been lost without any fault of
his ; but finding all in vain, he resolved to separate himself from
the world, that he might deprive her, who had been the cause of
his malady, of the pleasure of seeing him in that condition.
Getting, therefore together, what money he could privately
raise, without saying a word of his intention to more than one
friend, he went away, and came to Ancona, calling himself

172 THIRD DAY.

Philippo di Sanlodeccio, ami lie hired himself to a merchant,
with whom he went on shipboard to Cyprus ; who was so taken
with his behaviour, that he not only allowed him a good salary,
but took him in partner, entrusting the greatest part of his
affairs to his management ,- which he ordered so discreetly,
that in a few years, he hecame a wealthy and famous merchant.
Whilst he was in this employ, though he would sometimes
call to mind his cruel mistress, and he desirous of seeing
her again; yet such was Ins resolution, that for six years to-
gether he got the hettcr of his passion in this conflict ; till one
day it happened whilst he was at Cyprus, that he heard a song
composed hy himself sung there; in which was largely set
forth the mutual love which they bore t,o each other ; and con-
cluding from thence, that it was impossible she should ever
forget him, he had such a desire to see her, that he could no
longer forbear it; and settling his affairs, he departed with only
one servant to Ancona, and consigned all his effects to a mer-
chant at l'lorence, an acquaintance of his old friend at An-
cona ; whilst he travelled privately with his servant like a
pilgrim, just returned from the holy land. Being now arrived
at l'lorence, he went to an inn, which was kept by two bre-
thren, near where his mistress lived ; when the first thing he did
was to go to the house to endeavour to see her ; but he found the
windows ami doors all made fast, which made him susp<; t
that she was either dead or else had changed her dwelling.
From thence he proceeded in a sorrowful manner towards the
house where his brethren lived, when he saw four of them in
mourning standing at the door, which surprised him very
much ; and knowing himself so much altered since he had
been away, that he could not he easily known again, he ap-
plied himself to a shoemaker, and inquired the reason of their
being in black? who replied, "About fifteen days ago, a brother
of theirs, called Tedaldo, who has been long absent, was mur-
dered ; and 1 understand they have proved in court, that he was
killed by one Aldobrandino Palermini, who is arrested for it,
because he hail taken a fancy to his wife, and returned pri-
vately to be with her." Teldaldo wondered much that any
one should be so like himself, as to be taken for him ; being
troubled also for Aldobrandino, and finding that his mistress
was alive and well ; it being now night, he returned full of
thought, to his inn, and having supped along with his ser-
vant he was put to bed in a garret. There, what with his trou-
ble, the badness of the bed, and perhaps his light supper, he
was kept awake till midnight; when he thought he heard some
persons come from the ton of the house, and he saw a light
appear through the chinks of the door. Therefore, going so! I ,
to peep, he beheld a prett) young woman holding a candle,
whilst three men were coming towards her, down stairs; ami
after tome laughing together, one of them said, "We are now

NOVEL VII. 173

safe, God be thanked, since Tedaldo's death is proved by his
brethrenupon Aldobrandino Palermini, who has also confessed,
and sentence is now passed ; but yet it behoves us to keep
it private ; for should it be known hereafter, that we are the
persons, we should be in the same danger that he is now in."
Having said this to the woman, who seemed pleased with it,
they came down stairs, and went to bed. Tedaldo upon
hearing what passed, began to reflect how great and many
were the errors to which the mind of man was subject; first
thinking of his brethren who had mourned for a stranger, and
buried him by mistake for himself, and had afterwards taken
up an innocent person upon a bare suspicion, who was accord-
ingly condemned through false witnesses; considering also
the blind severity of the law, and the ministers and dispensers
of it, who whilst they are solicitous to find out the truth, do
often, by their horrid tortures, confirm a falsity; and instead oi
serving the cause of God and justice, are rather the execution-
ers of iniquity and the devil. After this he thought of Al-
dobrandino, and what was to be done to save his life. In
the morning then off he went alone to the lady's house, and by
chance, finding the door open, he entered, when he beheld her
sitting upon the ground in a little room, making sad lamenta-
tion. '•.Madam," said he to her, " do not trouble yourself;
your peace is at hand." She lifting up her head, replied with
tears ; "Honest man, thou seemest to be a stranger, what
knowest thou either of my peace or affliction?" "Madam, I am
a messenger sent by God from Constantinople, and am just
now arrived", to turn your tears into joy, and to save your hus-
band's life." She made answer, "If you are but now arrived,
and come from Constantinople, what do you know either of
me or my husband.'" He then related to her the trouble of her
husband, how long they had been married together, with
many other circumstances, to which she was no stranger ; at
which, being surprised, she fell down upon her knees, sup-
posing him to have been a prophet; praying him, that if he
was come for Aldobrandino's sake, to make all possible dis-
patch, for the time was short. He, shewing himself to be a
mighty religious person, said, " Raise yourself up madam,
and attend to what I am going to say. This trouble is
now come upon you on account of a sin formerly committed ;
therefore you must take care how you do the like for the time
to come, lest a greater calamity befal you." "Alas!" quoth
she, " Sir, I have been guilty of more sins than one; then tell
me particularly what sin you mean, and I will do all in my
power to amend." " Madam," returned he, " I do not ask for
information; 1 know what sin it is ; I do it only that you may
have the greater remorse by confessing. But to come to the
point. Had you ever a lover ?" The lady was in great amaze
at this, supposing nobody had known any thing of the matter ;
q2

174 THIRD DAY.

though, from the time that person was slain, who had been
buried tor Tedaldo, something of that kind lunl been talked
of, occasioned by some words imprudently let fall b) I
daldo's friend, whom he had entrusted with the6ecretj and
fetching a deep sigh, she said,"] perceive Heaven lias revealed
to you all thr secrets of mankind, therefore 1 shall make no
scruple of telling you mine. 1 did love, 1 confess, that un-
happy young man whose death is now laid to my husband,
and which has given me also infinite concern; lor though 1
might appear a little harsh to him, \<: neither hath his par-
ting, long stay, normiserable death, been able to drive him
from mj heart." The other then said. " The poor man who
is dead never loved you, though Tedaldo did. But tell me
what was the reason of your quarrelling with him '. Did he
ever give you any offence .'" She replied, " Most certainly he
did not ; hut it was allowing to a wicked friar, who alter I had
mentioned to him at confession, ray love for that person, and
our familiarity together, so terrified me, with denouncing
eternal damnation to such practices, that 1 immediately re-
solved to break off all acquaintance with him, and from that
time rejected all his solicitations ; though 1 really think, had
he persisted a little longer, for 1 suppose he went away in
despair, 1 might have relented at last, because I had a true
value for him." "Madam," quoth the stranger, "this is
the .-in which now sticks close to you. It was of your own
accord that you first loved Tedaldo ; there was no force in the
case; you were agreeable to each other, and acquaintance be-
got more love. Why, therefore, was he discarded in that
cruel manner? These things should always be considered be-
forehand; and you should never engage when you are likely
to repent Now, with regard to these friars, you must un-
derstand that, being one of them, 1 must be supposed to know
thing of theirways; and therefore if 1 speak a Little more
freely concerning them, it will he more excusable, as it is all
for your good, formerly they were religious good men ; hut
they who call themselves so now-a-days, and would be
thought such, resemble the others in nothing hut their h
nor in those things entirely; for the first friars wore them
coarse and scanty, to shew their great contempt of all tem-
poral things, when they wrapped their bodies in such i
habits; bul are made full shining, and of the finest

cloth that can In- g t ; and resembling in their cut the pon-
tifical robes, the) strut with them, like so many peacocks,
in churches and all public places; and as a fisherman si
to take as many fish as possible with one cast of his net,
these v, ith their large folds envelope and captivate young maids,
who have vowed chastity, widows, and other Bimple people; and
this is their whole care and study; so that to speak properly,
the) have not preserved the hood; of theii predt ccssors, fir

NOVEL VII. 175

the colour of them. Formerly also, they were solicitious for peo-
ples salvation, but now they desire only women, and as much mo-
ney as they can get ; for which purpose they terrify the ignorant
with idle stories, making them believe, that their sins are all
to be purged away with alms-giving and saying masses ;
for which purpose one sends bread, a second wine, and a
third money, all for the souls of their departed friends. It
is most certain that prayers, and giving of charities, are both
pleasing to God ; but if people knew what sort of folks they
were bestowed upon, they would sooner throw what they
part with in that manner to the hogs. They know full well,
that rich people are not so manageable as the poorer sort, for
which reason they are for engrossing wealth to themselves. They
cry down luxury, whilst they wallow in all kinds of debauch-
ery. They condemn usury and evil gains, in order to pur-
chase some great benefit or bishoprick, with what is given
them by way of restitution ; and which being detained from
them, would occasion (they say) that person's damnation.
And when they are told of these, and many other of their
wicked practices, all the answer they make, is 'Do as tve s<nj,
not as we do ;' as if it were possible for the sheep to have more
resolution and constancy than the shepherd. But they would
have you do as they say, namely, till their purses with money ;
entrust them with all your secrets ; be chaste, patient, for-
givers of injuries, and never to speak an ill word, which are
all very good things; but for what reason ? why truly, that
they may then do what, if we acted otherwise, they could not !
We all know, without money there could be no sloth or idle-
Bess, If you spend your money for your own diversion, they
could not have it for their maintenance ; if you visit the wo-
men, they would want the opportunity of being with them
themselves; unless you are patient, and a forgiver of inju-
ries, they would not dare to come into your house to corrupt
vour family. But why do I go through so many particulars ?
Let them first set the example, and then teach others. Sup-
pose however, what the friar told you to be true, namely,
that it is a great crime to break the matrimonial vow ;
Is not murder as bad I If then, after Tedaldo had fallen into
such despair, as to leave his country, he had laid violenc
hands upon himself, would not you have been the occasion
of it ? Now by your own confession, he deserved no such
usage at your hands. This therefore is the crime, which is
attended with its due punishment ; for as you broke your en-
gagement without reason ; in like manner without reason, is
your husband in danger of his life upon his account, and your-
self in great trouble. All that you can do then to be free, is
to promise, and to be as good as your word, that if ever he
returns from his long banishment, you will reinstate him into
the same degree of favour, that he enjoyed before you were
over persuaded by that mischievous friar,

17C THIRD DAY.

W hen lie had made an end of speaking, she replied in this

manner; "Good sir, I allow what you say to be right; to

be sure, they are a set of very bad people, though hitherto I
had a quite different opinion of them ; I own myself also
much to blame with regard to Tedaldo, and would do as you
say; but how is it possible I He is dead ; and what need is
there then of making any promise about him ?" The stranger
made answer, " Madam, 1 know he is not dead, but alive and
well, provided he has your good graces." She then replied,
" Be careful of what you say, I saw him before our door stab-
bed in several places and 1 lamented much over him; which
I suppose, gave occasion to the scandalous story that was rai-
sed about us." — " Madam," quoth he, Msay what you phase,
I assure you he is not dead; and if you will promise what
I desire, I hope you will soon see him." — "That," she re-
plied, " I will do with all my heart ; nothing can give me
greater pleasure than to see my husband at liberty, and Te-
daldo living." He now thought it a fit time to make a dis-
covery of himself, and to give her more assurance concerning
her husband ; therefore he said, " Madam, for your greater
comfort, I have one secret to entrust you with, which you
must keep as you value your husband's life." Then taking
a ring out of his pocket, which she had given him the last
night of their being together, he shewed it to her, saying,
" Madam, do you know this?" She instantly remembered it,
and replied, " Yes sir, I gave it formerly to Tedaldo." He
then arose from his seat, and throwing off his hood, said," And
do you know me ?" When she saw him she was quite con-
founded, finding him to be Tedaldo, and was as much afraid
as she would have been of a ghost; considering him not as yet
returned from Cyprus, but as newly risen from the dead. He
then said to her, " Doubt not, Madam; I am your Tedaldo,
alive and well ; I never was dead, as you and my brothers
believe.'' The lady began now to be a little better reconci-
led to him, and throwing her arms about his neck, she cried,
" My dear Tedaldo, you are welcome home." He embraced
her, and said, " Madam, we have no time now for these
greetings, I must go and take care of your husband, of whom
1 hope that before to-morrow you will hear such news as will
please you; and if I succeed according to my expectation,
i will come and spend this evening with you; when 1 shall
be aide to give you a more full account than my time will per-
mit at present" Resuming his former habit therefore, and
taking bis have of her, he went to the prison to Aldobrandino,
who lay expecting nothing but death; ami being admitted
by the favour of the keeper as a confessor, he sat down by him,
and spoke in this manner ; "I am a mesenger of God (who
has regard to your innocence) to bring you tidings of youi
deliverance; tot his sake then, I request one little favour, which

NOVEL VII. 177

if you grant, I make no doubt, but that before to-morrow
night, you will hear of a pardon." Aldrobandino replied,
" Sir, you are a stranger to me, but I must suppose you to
be a friend, since you are so solicitious about my deliverance.
With regard to this fact however, which has been sworn upon
me, I am entirely innocent; I may have been bad enough in
other respects, for which this may be a judgment upon me.
Then ask what you please, be the request of ever such conse-
quence, I promise to grant it, if I can obtain my liberty." He
made answer ; " What I require is only a pardon for Tedaldo's
four brethern, who have brought you into this trouble, suppo-
sing you were concerned in murdering their brother, when
ever they ask it of you." Aldobrandino replied, "Nobody
knows the sweets of revenge, and how eagerly it is coveted,
but they who have received the injury; nevertheless I for-
give them, and if I obtain a pardon, I will do it in such a
manner as shall be most agreeable to you." He was pleased
with this, and bid him have a good heart, for that before the
next day at night he should be assured of his liberty ; and from
thence went straight to the signiory, and taking one of the
lords aside, he said to him, " Sir, it is the business of every
one to endeavour to find out the truth, especially such as are
in your station, in order that people may not suiter wrongfully ;
and that they who deserve punishment may have it ; which,
that it may tend to your honour, and the confusion of the
guilty, is what now brings me before you. You know you
have proceeded with severity against Aldobrandino, think-
ing you had proved the murder upon him of Tedaldo. This
I aver to be false, as I shall prove to you before midnight, de-
livering the very murderers into your hands." The worthy lord,
who was under gi-eat concern for Aldobrandino, gave ear to
the stranger's story, and about midnight the two brothers and
their maid were taken by his means, being let into the house
by him ; when they all confessed the fact, namely that they
had slain Tedaldo without knowing him. Being asked the
reason, they declared that it was because he would have for-
ced one of their wives when they were abroad. After this
was known, he had leave to depart; and he went privately
to the lady's house, to give her a full account of what had
passed ; he afterwards spent the night with her, when there
was a firm and thorough reconciliation. In the morning, hav-
ing acquainted her with what he meant to do, and enjoined
her secrecy, he went as soon as time came to attend to the. af-
fair of Aldobrandino ; when the lords, upon a full inquiry,
released him, and sentenced the others to lose their heads
where the fact was committed. Aldobrandino being discharged,
and knowing that it was all owing to the stranger, he and his
friends invited him to their houses to make what stay he plea-
sed, and shewed him all possible respect ; the lady especially,

ITS THIRD DAY.

who well knew to whom she wis bo obliging. And now thinking
it time to bring about a reconciliation between Aldobrandino
and his brethren, who had gained so much ill-will since bis
discharge that they were forc< d to go armed, he demanded
his promises. Aldobrandino answered, that be was willing,
lie therefore made him provide a great entertainment, to
which his relations and their wives were to be invited, and the
four brethren with their wives, and that himself would ask
them as to his feast. Accordingly he wen! to the four breth-
ren, and after much entreaty prevailed upon them, in or-
der to regain Aldobrandino's friendship, to ask pardon ;
and when that was done invited them the next day to dine there,
giving them his word for their security.

At dinner-time therefore the next day, Tedaldo's four
brethren, all in mourning, with some of their friends, came
first to Aldobrandino's house, who was expecting them; when
laying their arms down upon the ground, in presence of all
the guests who had been invited to bear them company, and
ollerir-g themselves to bis mercy, they humbly asked his par-
don. He received them with abundance of tears, and salu-
ting them one after another, forgave the infury he had suf-
fered. After their sisters and wives came also, and were
graciously received by, Ermellina and the other ladies. And the
entertainment being now served up, and everything agreeable,
excepting a confirmed silence, occasioned by the late sorrow,
which was represented by the habit of Tedaldo's relations; on
which account the stranger's contrivance and invitation ap-
peared unseasonable to many people. This he soon perceived,
and resolved, when he saw a fit time, to remove; accordingly,
when the dessert was served up, he arose, and said, " Nothing
seems wanting to make a merry meeting, but the presence of
Tedaldo, whom, as you have had so long with you without
knowing him, I mean now to shew you." — Throwing oil' then
his monk's disguise, he appeared in a green silk doublet, and
was known by all to their great surprise, who gazed upon
him for a considerable time, before they could be convinced
that he was the very person ; which he perceiving, related
many circumstances concerning both themselves and him for
their farther satisfaction. Upon which the brethren, and the
rest of the men, all ran and embraced him, as did all the wo-
men except Ermellina; which when Aldobrandino saw,
he said, "What's the meaning of this, Ermellina? Why don't
you welcome Tedaldo home, when every body else has done
it.'" She replied, in the hearing of them all, that no one could
rejoice more sincerely than herself, as she was obliged to
him for her husband's life ; but the scandalous word that had
been given out concerning her, when that person was taken
for Tedaldo, had made her cautious. Aldobrandino re-

plied, "Away with these idle stories; do you think I regard

NOVEL VII. 179

them? He has sufficiently cleared himself by his regard for
my life; do then as the rest have done." She wanted nothing
so much ; and was therefore not slow in obeying her husband's
order. Aldobrandino's liberality was so agreeable to all pre-
sent, both men and women, that their former misunderstanding
was quite forgotten. After Tedaldo then had received every
one's compliments, he tore the mourning off all his kindred,
and ordered other clothes to be immediately brought ; and
having put them on, they concluded the feast with singing,
dancing, and such like diversions. From thence they went to
Tedaldo's house, where they supped, and they continued feast-
ing many days. Whilst the people for some time looked upon
him with the utmost amazement, as one risen from the dead ;
and perhaps his very brethren might have still entertained some
doubt about him, if one thing had not happened, which made
it clear who the person was that was slain, and which was as
follows : — Some sorry fellows of Lunigiana were going one day
past the house, and seeing Tedaldo at the door, they slopped
and said, " How do you do, Fativolo !" Tedaldo replied, be-
fore some of his brethren, " You mistake your man." They
hearing him speak, were out of countenance, and asked
pardon, saying, " Never two people were more alike, than you
and a companion of ours, called Fativolo da Pontriemo who
has been come hither these fifteen days, and we can't learn
what has befallen him. We wondered indeed how he came by
this dress, for he was a soldier, as we are." The eldest brother
hearing this, inquired more particularly as to his clothes, and
finding all circumstances agree, it now appeared plainly that it
was Fativolo, and not Tedaldo, that was slain, and thisset every
one right with regard to that affair. Thus Tedaldo returned
home rich, and continued his acquaintance with the lady, with-
out any farther interruption. May the like good fortune hap-
pen to us all.

THE THIB'D DAY.

NOVEL VIII.

Ferondo, by taking a certain drug, is buried for dead, andby the
abbot, who has anintrigue with his wife, is taken out of the
grave and put into a dungeon, when he is made to believe that
he is in purgatory: being raised up again, he rears a child as
his own, which the abbot had got by his wife.

Emilia's long novel was now brought to a conclusion (though
it did not appear long to the company, on account of the va-
riety of incidents with which it was stored), when the quee n
gave a nod to Lauretta, who began in this manner ; —

1 am going to relate a thing which has more the appearance
of fiction than truth, and which I call to mind, from what has
just been told us, of one person's being mourned for, and
buried instead of another. I purpose then to tell you how a liv-
ing person was buried as though he bad been dead ; how af-
terwards it was believed by himself, as well as other people,
that he was risen from the dead, and not actually living all the
time; and how one obtained the name of a saint upon that
score, and was adored as such, when he deserved rather to have
been severely punished. —

There was in Tuscany a certain abbey, and is at present, sit-
uated in a lonesome place; of which a certain monk was cho-
sen abbot, who was religious enough in every respect, excepting
the affair of women, and this he managed so well, that he was
never suspected ; therefore be was reckoned pious in all
points. Now it happened, that a rich countryman was ac-
quainted with this abbot, one of mean parts and understanding,
hut whose simplicity would sometimes afford matter of mirth;
and in the course of their acquaintance, the abbot found that
be bad a handsome wife* with whom he grew most violently in

AJ&mmT 3 JP1L O T <

NOVEL VIII. ]SI

love ; but being informed tbat Ferondo, however stupid in
other things, was prudent enoug*h as to his care of her, he al-
most despaired of suecess ; yet he managed so artfully, that he
prevailed upon Ferondo to bring her sometimes for their
amusement to his gardens at the abbey, when he would dis-
course to them of the beatitudes of eternal life, and of the
pious works of many righteous people departed hence ; which
had that effect upon the lady, that she- had^a great desire to con-
fess to him : for this purpose she desired leave of her husband,
which was granted. Coming' then to confession, greatly
to his good liking, and sitting at his* feet, she began, before
she entered upon her subject, to this effect : — "Sir, if God had
given me a different sort of a husband from what I now have, or if
he had given me none at all, yet with your instruction it would
be easy for me perhaps to pursue the path which you have
pointed out to eternal life: but when I consider what sort of
a person I am tied to, I must look upon myself as a widow,
and yet in this respect worse than married, as I can have no
other husband as long as he lives. Besides, he is so unreason-
ably jealous, that I live in constant misery with him :
therefore, before I proceed to confession, I must beg a little of
your advice in this particular ; for, till I find some remedy
here, confession, or any other good work, will be of little
effect." This touched the abbot in the most sensible part ; and
now thinking that fortune had opensd a way to what he had so
long aimed at, he replied : — " Daughter, I can easily believe
how grievous it is for a pretty young lady, as you are, to have
a fool for your husband, and it is worse to have a man that is
jealous ; therefore, you must suffer extremely that have both
one and the other. But to be plain with you, 1 see no adviee
that can avail, or remedy, but one ; namely, to cure him of
that jealousy. The remedy, in such a case, I well know how
to apply, provided you will keep it a secret."—" Father,"
quoth the lady, "never fear; I would die before I would
make a discovery contrary to your injunction ; but how is it
possible?" The abbot replied, "If we desire he should be
cured, it will be necessary for him to go first into purga-
tory." "What, go there alive?" quoth the lady. "He
must die first," answered the abbot, " and then go thither ; and
when he shall have suffered enough to cure him of his jealousy
we shall use a few pi'ayers to bring him to life again, and
it shall be done." "Then I must remain a widow?" said
the lady. " For a time," he replied, " when you must be
exceedingly careful not to be prevailed upon to marry else-
where, for that would be a very bad thing, and as you must re-
turn to Ferondo, when he comes to life again, he would be
more jealous than ever." "Well," quoth she, " so long as
there is a cure, and I am not to be prisoner all my life, do as you
will, I am content." " But," continued he, " what reward shall I

181 THIRD DAY.

have for th "Father," she replied, "wl

in my power t<> give; but what can Buch an oik- as myself offer
worthy the acceptance of a person like you?" He made an-
swer, " Madam, it is in your power to do as much for mo, as
ir is mine tor you. As I am ready then to perform what
lie for your rase and comfort, so should you be mind-
ful of me in a point where mj life .111! welfare are both con-
.." — •' [fit be s<>," quoth she, " I am very ready." —
Then," said he, "you must grant me your love, for which I en-
tirely languish." She was startled at this, anil said. "Alas! my
lather, what is it you would have? I took you always Cora
saint. Do holy men request such favours <>f ladies who come
to them for advice?" The abbot replied; " My dearest life let
this not surprise you ; my sanctity is not the less on this ac-
count, because that abides in the soul, and what I ask of you
is only a sin of the body. Hut however that may be, ili> I
of your beauty is such that it constrains me to do thus ; and I
must tcdl you that you have reason to value yourseli
it captivates the saints, who are employed in contemplating the
beauties of heaven. Besides, although 1 am an abbot, 1 am yet
a man, and not old ; nor should you think much of this, but
rather be desirous of it, because all the time be is in purg;
I will supply his place, and it wdl never be so much as sus •
pected, because every one has the same opinion of me that
you yourself just now declared. Then refuse not what is thus
» d you; there are enough that would be glad of it. More-
over, [ have jewels and other things of value, which 1 intend
shall all be yours. Do therefore my dearest lose, what I
would willingly do for you." The lady had her eyes fixed on
thenround, not knowing how to deny him, and yet to grant
the favour seemed not so well ; be, perceiving that she began to
listen, and did not immediately reply, supposed the conquest
half made, and continued using such sort of arguments as be-
fore, till he convinced her that it would be a good action;
therefore she said at last with a blush she was willing to comply,
but not till her husband was sent to purgatory. The abbot was
well enough satistied with this, and replied, " He shall go thith-er
directly, onlydo you take care that he comes thither to-morn
ne\t day, to make some stay with me." Upon saying this, he puta
line ring into her hand, and dismissed her. She was overjoyed
with the present, supposing she should have many more such ;
and returning to her friends, related wonderful things of the
abbot's great sanctity, and they went together to her own

bouse. In a few flays Ferondo Went to the abbey, and as SOOn
as tiie abbot saw him hi' prepared a drug, which came 10 him
as a present from a great person out of the East, and which
was used when he had a mind to throw any one into a ti.
so that by giving mole or 1, SS, be .aid, 'without doini: them
any barm, make them sleep as long as be pleased ; insomuch

NOVEL VIII. 183

that whilst its effect lasted, you would imagine them to be
dead ; of this he took as much as would operate* for three _days
and mixing it up with a glass of wine, without his perceiving
it, gave it to him to drink. He afterwards walked with him into
the cloisters with several of the monks, and they began to be
merry together as usual. In some little time it began to work,
and he was taken with sudden drowsiuess, and he nodded as
he stood, and at last fell down in a profound sleep. The
abbot seemed much concerned at the accident, making them
unbutton his collar and throw cold water in his face, in order to
bring him to himself, as though it had been occasioned by
some fumes from his stomach, or such-like disorder ; but when
they found all was vain, and perceiving, by touching his pulse,
no signs of life remaining, it was concluded by all that he was
certainly dead ; accordingly they sent to acquaint his wife and
relations, who immediately came thither, and having lamented
over him for a time, he was buried by the abbot's direction,
with his clothes on, in one of their vaults. She went back to
her own house giving out, that she resolved never to stir a step
from a little son she had by him, and continuing there, she took
upon herself the management of the child, as well as estate,
which he had left behind. The abbot, when night came, carried
a monk of Bologna with him, whom he could trust, and who
was just come hither upon a visit ; and taking Ferondo out of
the vault, they brought him into a dungeon, which served as
a prison for the monks that had committed any fault ; when
stripping him of his clothes, they dressed him in the habit of
a monk, and left him upon a bundle of straw, till he should
come to himself ; whilst the monk, being instructed by the
abbot as to what he would have done, was to wait there with-
out any body's knowing anything of the matter, till he had
his senses. The next day^the abbot went, attended by some of
his monks, to pay his visit of condolence to the widow, whom
lie found in her weeds very sorrowful : and after a little con-
solation, he put her softly in mind of her promise. She find-
ing hhrself now at liberty, and seeing another valuable ring on
his finger, gave her consent, and it was agreed that he should
come the next night. When that time came therefore, he put
on Ferondo's clothes and taking his faithful monk along with
him, went thither, and stayed till the morning; and this prac-
tice he followed so long, that he was frequently seen passing
backwards and forwards by the neighbours, who all agreed,
that it was Ferondo who walked there, doing penance, and
many strange stories were reported among the simple country
people about it, which were carried to the lady, who knew full
well what kind of ghost it was. The monk, as soon as he per-
ceived Ferondo growing a little sensible, came in, making a
most terrible noise ; and having a rod in his hand, be^au to
chastise him severely. Ferondo, crying very much, could say

184 THIRD DAY.

iiotliinac else but, " Where am I .'" The other replied, " Thou
art in purgatory." "How!" said Ferondo, "and am I then
dead?" " Most surely," answered the monk. Upon which
he began to lament for himself, his wife, and child, uttering
the strangest things in the world ; whilst the monk gave him
something to eat and drink, which Ferondo seeing said,
" What ! do dead people eat .' " The monk replied, " ^ es, and
what I new bring, thy wife sent this morning to church, to
have mass said for thy soul." "God bless her!" quoth Fer-
ondo, " we always lived happily together. " When finding
himself hungry, he began t-> eat and drink, and the wine being
very bad, he said, "Alas! why did she notgive the priest some
of that wine nearest to the wall?" No sooner had he idled
his belly, than he had the same discipline over again ; when
lie roaring out amain, said, " What is all this lor?'' The monk
answered, "Because thou art jealous of thy wife, who is one of
the hest of women." "Alas!" quoth he, "you say true; she
was a most dear creature ; but I duf not know that it was a sin
to be jealous." "Oh!" said the monk, " you should have taken
care of that whilst you were in the other world ; and if it should
happen that you return thither, reniemher what 1 now say,
and he jealous no more." "Then," replied Ferondo, "do
people ever return thither again after they have been dead ?
"Yes" said the other, " if God so pleases." "Oh!" quoth
Ferondo, " if that should he my case, 1 would he the hest
hushand in the world ; I would never heat her, or say an angry
word, unless it were for the bad wine she has sent me, and let-
ting me have no candles, that I am forced to eat in the dark."
" She sent candles enough," answered the monk, " hut they
are all burnt out at mass." " Well," quoth Ferondo, "you say
very true, and when i go back she shall do as she plea-
ses; hut pray tell me who you are that do all this unto me f"
The monk replied, " 1 am now dead ; hut I was of Sardinia,
and am condemned to this office, because I formerly com-
mended a certain master of mine for being jealous." " But,"
said Ferondo, "is nobody here then besides us two." " Yes,"
replied lie, "thousands ; hut you can no more see or hear them,
than they can hear or see us." " Then," quoth Ferondo, " how
far may we he distant from our own countries?" "Many
thousands of leagues," answered the other. " Why truly that
is far enough," quoth Ferondo, " then we must certainly he
out of the world." In this manner was Ferondo kept there
ior ten months, whilst the abbot continued his visits to the
wife ; till at last she proved with child, when it was thought
convenient that he should he delivered out of purgatory. The
next night therefore, the abbot went into the dungeon, and
called upon Ferondo, with a counterfeited voice, Baying, "Take
courage Ferondo; it is now ordered that thou return into the
other world, when thou shalt have a son by thy wife, whom thou

NOVEL VIII. 185

shalt name Benedict; because, through the prayers of the holy
abbot, and thy most virtuous wife, and the intercession of St.
Benedict, this favour is granted thee." He was overjoyed at
hearing this, and said, " Thanks be to St. Benedict, my wife,
and the abbot ; I shall ever love and honour them." Accordingly,
in the next wine that was sent him, the abbot mingled as
much of the former drug as would make him sleep four hours ;
when they put his own clothes upon him and he was carried into
the vault where he had been interred. By break of day then
he came to himself, and seeing a glimmering of light through a
crevice of the vault which he had been utterly deprived of for
ten months, he began to suppose himself alive, and he cried out
aloud saying, " Open the vault, and let me forth." At the
same time he lifted up the cover with his head it being of no
great weight, and was making his way out, whilst the monks,
having just ended their morning service, ran thither, and know-
ing Ferondo's voice, and seeing him arise out of the vault, they
were so terrrified that they tied to tell the abbot, who, seeming
to them to be just risen from prayer, said, " Fear not my sons ;
take the crucifix and holy water, and follow me, that we may
see what kind of miracle this is." Ferondo was quite pale, as
might be supposed, having been so long confined without see-
ing any light ; but as soon as the abbot appeared, he fell at
his feet, saying, " Your prayers, most holy father, as it has been
revealed to me, and those of my wife, with the intercession of
St. Benedict, have delivered me out of purgatory, and brought
me to life again, for which I shall ever be thankful." " Then go,
quoth the abbot, " as this mercy is bestowed upon you, and
comfort your wife who has been in the utmost trouble ever
since you departed from us." He, seeming also to hold the
thing in great veneration, ordered the monks to sing devoutly
the Miserere. In the meantime, Ferondo returned to his
house, where every one that saw him fled, as if they had seen
some terrible sight, affirming that he was risen from the dead,.
His wife also expressed the utmost consternation. In some
little time however, after they were convinced of his being alive,
they began to ask him questions concerning the souls of their
departed friends, when he made the finest stories in the world
about purgatory ! relating to them also, what had been revealed
to him before his resurrection. From that time he lived
comfortably with his wife ; and at length they had a son, whom
they called Benedict Ferondo. Ferondo's resurrection, and
what he himself reported about it, every one giving entire
credit to his words, added greatly to the character of the
abbot's extraordinary sanctity. Ferondo also was cured of his
jealousy ; and his wife had the pleasure of the abbot's com-
pany, as often as they could conveniently meet together.

r 2

1 6

THE THIRD DAY.

NOVEL IX.

Giletta de Narbonne cures the King of France of a complaint,
and demands the Count de Roussilon in marriage, as her re-
ward : he marries her against his will, and goes in a pet to Flo-
rence, where he fell in lore ivith a young lady, and lay with his
own wife, when he thought himself in bed with his mistress.
She had two sons by him, and by that means, matters were ac-
commodated at last between them.

There remained now only the queen to speak (saving his pri-
vilege to Dioneus) ; therefore she began, without being called
upon, in this manner ; —

Who can say anything now to please, since we have heard
heard Lauretta's story ? It is well for most of the company
she was not the first; for few would have been thought so
agreeable after her ; and so I believe it will be with regard
to such as are yet to speak ; however I shall keep to the sub-
ject, and give you my story, such as it is.

There lived in France a gentleman named Isnard Count
de Roussilon, who, because he was in a bad state of health,
kept always a physician in his house, called Master Gerard
de Narbonne. Now the count had an only son, whose name
was Beltram, a fine youth, who was brought .up along with
other children of his own age, amongst whom was a daughter
to this physician, ealled Giletta, who had an infinite esteem
and love (more than was common at such an age) for him;
whilst lie, on account of his lather's death, and his behiur left
to the king's care, was obliged to go to Paris, which gave her
the utmost concern ; boon afterwards, her father dying also,

NOVEL IX. 187

she would gladly, if she could have found a fit pretence, have
gone thither to have seen him ; but such care was taken of
her, as she was an heiress, that it was impossible. Being now
of age to marry and being unable to forget her first love, though
she had many offers, to whom her guardians would willingly
have disposed of her, she rejected them all without assign-
ing any reason. In the mean time, her love growing more vio-
lent every day, as she heard an extraordinary characterof him,
news was brought that the King of France had a dangerous
complaint which succeeded a swelling in his breast, from its
not being well cured, that gave him extreme trouble ; nor
could he meet with a physician, though he had tried many, that
was able to heal it ; but on the contrary, they had made it
worse, insomuch that he was determined to have no more ad-
vice. This was agreeable enough to the young lady, not only
as it afforded a pretence for her going to Paris, but also, if
the disorder proved of the kind suspected, she had great hopes
of getting Bel tram for her husband; upon which, mixing up
such sort of drugs as her father was wont to use in cases of
that nature, she hastened away to Paris, when the first
thing she did, after she had obtained a sight of Beltram
was to wait upon the king, to desire he would acquaint her
with his malady. His majesty most graciously condescended
to grant her request ; when she was instantly convinced she
was able to make a cure, and said, " Sir, if you will give me
leave, I hope, without any pain or trouble, to restore your
health in eight days." The king could not help making a
jest of this, saying to himself, "What ! shall a woman undertake
to do that which has baffled ail the best physicians in the
world?" He thanked her therefore, for her good intention,
and told her that he resolved to try no more medicines. The
lady then replied, "Sir, you ridicule my art, because you see
me young, and a woman ; but I must remind you, that I do
not pretend to this from my own knowledge ; but 1 rely
upon the help of God, and the judgment of Master Gerard
de Narbosine, who was a most eminent physician in his time,
and my father." The king, hearing this, said to himself,
" Perhaps she is sent from God to my assistance ; why do
I not, therefore make trial of her, as she promises to cure
me, without any trouble, in so short a time ?" He said there-
fore, to her, " But suppose you should prove mistaken, what
would you forfeit for making me break my resolution ?" She
replied ; " If your majesty pleases, you may set a guard upon
me ; and if you are not cured in eight days, then burn me
alive ; but if I succeed, and you get well, what recompense am
I then to have?" The king made answer ; " You seem to be a
maiden, I will dispose of you in marriage to a person of great
account." " Sir," quoth she, " I accept your offer of a hus-
band, but 1 \v:li name the person, excepting all of your royal

188 THIRD DAY.

house" He immediately promised, and she began to ad-
minister her medicines; and before the limited time she had
wrought a thorough cure. He then said, " Fair maid, you
have well earned a husband." "Then, Sir," she replied "I
have gained the Count de Roussilon, whom 1 have loved ever
since 1 was a child." The king thought her demand) very
great, but as he had given his word, he would not depart from
it. lie sent for him. therefore, and said to him, " Beltram
you are now of age to take upon you the government of
your own country; I consequently will that you return thither,
and take a wife whom I shall recommend to you." "And who
is the ladv, sir?" replied Beltram. "It is she." said the
king, " who has cured me with her medicines." Beltram
knew and liked her well enough, only that he thought her ex-
tract too low lor his quality ; upon which he said, with some
disdain, "And does your majesty then mean to give me a doc-
tress lor my wile? Surely 1 may do much better for myself.'
"Then," quoth the king, "would you have me worse than
my word? She requested to have you, and I promised, upon
condition that I was made well." " My liege," replied he,
you may take away what I now possess, or you may add to
it if you please ; hut this I assure your majesty, that I will
never consent to such a match." " It is my pleasure to have
it so," continued the king ; " she is a prudent and heautilul
lady, and you may he happier with her, than if you were
married to one of greater quality." Beltram then held his
peace; and the king ordered a magniiicient entertainment
in honor of the nuptials, and when the day came, Beltram
espoused her, much against his will, in the king's presence,
which being done, he took his leave of his majesty, as if he
was going to keep his wedding in his own country ; hut instead
of that he went quite a different way, and came to Tuscany,
where he heard that the Florentines were at war with the Sen-
esi, when he willingly joined to them, and having a command
given him, he continued some time in their service. The
bride, not at all pleased with this behaviour, went to Rous-
silon, in hopes of gaining his affections by her prudent man-
agement, where she was received as their lady and mistress,
and finding everything in disorder, on account of her hus-
band's long minority, she used such care and diligence in re-
storing all to its wonted tranquillity, that she gained the fa-
vour and good-will of her subjects, who blamed the count highly
fur his neglect of her. >Vhen that was done, she sent
two knights to him, to desire to know if it was on her account
he stayed away from home ; and to tell him that she was willing
to go elsewhere to please him. Hut he answered roughly,
that she might use- her pleasure; "For," said he, "I will go to
her only when She shall have this ring upon her linger, and a

. <.u begotten by me, in hei arms." Nov, he valued the ring at a high

NOVEL IX. 189

rate, and never parted with it from his finger, because of some
secret virtue which he supposed it to have. The knights look-
ed upon the condition as implying two impossibilities ; and,
perceiving that he was not to be moved from his resolution,
they returned, and reported his answer. The lady was much
afflicted at this, and began to consider if there were no way
to effect these two points, and consequently regain her husband.
Taking her measures then accordingly, she assembled all the
principal people of the country, when she recounted to them,
in a most tender and affectionate manner, all that she had
done for the love of the count, and what ensued thereupon ;
and she let them know, that it never was her intention by stay-
ing amongst them, to keep him in perpetual banishment ;
wherefore she resolved to spend the remainder of her life in
pilgrimage, for the good of her soul ; and her desire was, that
they would take the government upon them, and inform
the count that she had quitted possession, and left the coun-
try with a design never more to return. As she was speak-
ing these words, they all began to weep, and they entreated
her much to change her resolution, but to no purpose.
Taking her leave then, and being attended with only a maid-
servant and a relation, they set forward together like pil-
grims, having provided themselves well with money and jewesl ;
and without any body's knowing whither they were gone,
they made no stop till they came to Florence ; there by chance,
they met with an inn that was kept by a widow, where she
stayed, with a desire of learning some news concerning her
lord. The next day it happened, that he passed by the house
on horseback, along with his troop, when though she knew
him very well, yet she asked the landlady who he was ? " It
is a gentleman, a 6tranger," answered she, " one of the best-
natured men in the world, and much respected in this city,
who is in love with a gentlewoman of small fortune in this
neighbourhood ; she bears a good character, but is yet un-
married, on account of her scanty circumstances, and lives
with her mother." The countess upon hearing this, began
to consider more fully of what she meant to do ; and inquir-
ing the person's name, and where she lived, she went one
day to the house, and after the usual salutation, told the
old lady, that she had a mind to speak to her; the other arose,
and said, with all her heart. They then went into a chamber
by themselves, and sitting down together, the countess began
in this manner; " Madam, you seem to be as little obliged to
fortune as myself ; but perhaps it is now in your power to
do us both a kindness." The other replied, that she should
be very willing, if it could be done honestly. The countess
added, " I put myself entirely into your hands ; if you de-
ceive me, you frustrate the purposes of both." — "Speak out,"
said the lady ; " you shall find I never shall deceive you :" She

190 THlIiD DAY.

then related her whole story, from beginning to end, part of
which the old lady had heard from common report; and she
added. "You now hear the two things which I am to com-
pass to train mv husband, with regard to which there is no per-
son in the world can serve mc beside yourself, if it he true,
as I am told, that lie is violently in love with your daughter."
" Madam," quoth the lady, "there is some appearance of the
count's liking my daughter; but whether there be anything
re d, that I cannot pretend to say. But what has this to do
with your affair ?" — " That," answered she, " I shall soon tell
you. " But you must first hear what I intend to do in considera-
tion of this service of yours. I understand that you have a
daughter, of age to marry, whom you are forced to keep at
home with you, for want of a fortune to give her; now m
design is, to advance such a sum of money as you yourself
shall think sufficient to marry her reputably." The lady liked
the oiler very well, but yet, having the spirit of a gentle-
woman, she replied ; "Tell me what you want to have done,
and if it appear fair and honest, I will do it most willingly,
and leave the reward to you." The countess then said ; " You
must give the count to understand, by some person whom you
can trust, that your daughter is ready to oblige him, as soon
as she can be assured that he has that real love for her which
he pretends, and which she knows not how to credit, unless he
- ads her the ring that he usually wears, and which she hears,
he sets such a value upon. This ring you must give to me,
and then you may let him know that your daughter is at his
service, and that he may come privately hither as soon as he
pleases.when you must put me tobedtohim instead of your daugh-
ter. Perhaps I may prove with child ; so that, by having his
ring on mvfinger, and a son of his in my arms, which were the
two conditions required, I may live with him afterwards as
my husband, and you may he the happy instrument of it.*'
The lady was in some doubt at first, fearing some scandal
might befal her daughter; but considering afterwards how It:
it was that the good lady should have her husband, she there-
fore promised her assistance, and in a few days obtained the
ring much against his will, and afterwards put the lady to bed
to him, instead of her daughter. Accordingly it happened,
that she became with child of two sons, as the event made
manifest, which, as soon as she perceived, she said to the
lady, " Madam, my end is now answered, 1 have nothing
more to do hut to satisfy you for your trouble." She replied ;
" If you are ( tented, it is well ; I did it out of no expecta-
tion of reward, hut only as it appeared to be quite a right thing.
".Madam," continued the countess, " I am entirely pleased,
and I intend to make you a recompense suitable to your greal
merit." She then, moved by her necessity, desired, with the
utmost modesty, a hundred pounds for her daughter's porti

NOVEL IX. 191

whilst the other, knowing her great worth, and hearing her
humble demand, gave her rive hundred, and jewels to the
amount of as much more, for which she was very thankful ;
and, to take away all pretence of the count's coming any
more to her house, removed with her daughter to her friends
in the country. In some time, Beltram, hearing that his
countess had departed out of his territories, went thither at
the request of his subjects ; whilst she stayed at Florence, till
her time of labour came, when she was brought to bed of two
sons, very like their father, whom she took care to have well
nursed ; and in due time, without being discovered by any
person, she came to Montpelier, where she made some stay,
to rest herself, and to make inquiry concerning her husband ;
when, hearing that he was to make a great feast at Roussilon,
on the day of All Saints, she went thither in the same pil-
grim's dress as she at first set out in ; and just as the guests
were going to sit down at table, she pressed forwards, through
the midst of the crowd, both of gentlemen and ladies, with
her two children in her arms, till coming where the count
was, she threw herself at his feet, saying, with tears " My lord,
I am your unhappy wife, who have undertaken a long pil-
grimage, in order that you might return to your own house.
I conjure you, in the presence of God, that you abide by the
two conditions enjoined me by the two knights whom I sent
to you. Behold, not one son only of your's in my arms, but
two ; and, see here is the ring." The count was confounded
with admiration, knowing the ring, and seeing the children to
be like him, and said ; " How can this be ?" She then related
the whole story before all the company ; whilst he, knowing
her to speak the truth, perceiving also her constancy and
good management, and beholding two such pretty children, to
satisfy also his promise, as well as to oblige the whole com-
pany, who requested him to take her as his wife ; upon all
these considerations I say. he laid his inveterate hatred aside,
and raised her up, and saluted her, acknowledging her for
his lawful countess, and the two babes for his children ; he
ordered also suitable apparel to be brought for them, to the
great joy of the whole court ; whilst the feasting continued
not that day only, but many others ; and from that time he
shewed her all due respect, and they continued happy together
as long as they lived.

192

THE THIRD DAY.

NOVEL X.

Alibech, a young girl desirous of becoming a christain, {ravels to
a desert to consult some holy men as to the Lest means of ■ i r-
ving and pleasing God. Rusticus, a devout hermit, informs
her that the Devil had escaped from hell, that nothing could be
more acceptable to God than Ids being sent back again, and
teaches tier how to accomplish it ; which she does with his piuiis
assistance, to her great satisfaction.

Dioneus who had listened attentively to the story just related
hy the Queen, perceiving that she had finished, and that it
only remained for him to tell his, did not wait for their com-
mands, hut smiling, thus commenced; —

Most gracious ladies, you may not have heard how the De-
vil, having broke loose, was again replaced in hell, and I will,
with very little deviation from the drift of all that has been
spoken to day, tell you how it occurred, as the knowledge of it
may, peradventure, enable you to save your souls. Alth
love dwells in gorgeous palaces, and sumptuous' apartments,
more willingly than in miserable and desolate cottages, it can-
not be denied, but that he sometimes causes his power to be
felt in the gloomy recesses of forests, among the most bleak
and rugged mountains, and in the dreary caveB of a desert;
to comprehend which, we must believe that all things are
subject to his power. A.8 a proofofthe foregoing observations,
I proceed with the following history.

In the city of Capsa, in Barbary, there resided formerly a
very rich man, \\\io had among other children, a daughter

NOVEL X. 193

named Alibech who was young;, handsome, and docile. This
girl was not a Christian, but hearing the Christian faith, and
the serving of God much praised by the Christians who were
in that city, demanded of one of them in what manner, and
how with the least interruption or trouble she could serve God.
She was informed that they served him best, who despised
and fled from the vanities, and things of this world, as did
those who retired to the solitudes in the deserts in Thebais.
The young girl, who was all simplicity, and not mora perhaps
than fourteen years of age, nor governed by a reasonable
desire, but by the headstrong impulses of youth, without dis-
closing her intention, started secretly the next morning for
the desert of Thebais. She arrived with great fatigue (her reso-
lution having continued firm) at one of the solitary places,
where, having discovered a little dwelling she entered it, and
found a holy man who marvelled much to see the like of her,
in such a place, and enquired the object of her journey. She
replied, that inspired by God, she came to dedicate herself to
his service, and also to seek some one who could instruct her
how she must serve him. The holy man seeing her young and
so beautiful, fearing that the devil might tempt him, if he de-
tained her, commended highly her great devotion, and hav-
ing given her some roots and herbs, some wild apples and
dates to eat, and some water to drink, said to her ; " My child,
not far from hence there lives a holy man, who in such mat-
ters as you seek is a greater master than I am, go you then to
him ;" and he put her in the way, by which she came to the
cell of an hermit, named Rusticus, who was young and suf-
ficiently pious and good. She made the same request to this
one that she had to the other; and he, wishing to make a grand
experiment of his firmness, instead of following the example
of the other by sending her away, retained her in his habi-
tation, and at night made a bed of palm branches in one cor-
ner, that she might repose herself thereon. This done, the
temptations of the flesh waited not a moment to oppose
themselves to the strength of the hermit : who finding
that he had been too long deceived by them, without re-
ceiving too great an assault, gave himself up for conquer-
ed, and setting aside divine thoughts, prayers, and disci-
pline, began to ruminate on the youth and beauty of the
fair pilgrim, and to devise by what ways and means he
should accomplish his purpose, in order that she might
not consider him a dissolute man. Having in the first
place, by certain interrogatories, ascertained that she was as
simple as she appeared to be, and never had knowledge of
man, it occurred to him that, under the pretext of serving
God, he could bring her to his desires. He therefore began to
explain to her, that the Devil was the greatest enemy of our
Lord, and that the service most pleasing to God, was to send
s

194 THIRD DAY.

the Devil back again to hell, where our Lord had condemned
him. She demanded of him how this was to be done, which
he immediately proceeded to explain.*

* The translators regret that the disuse into which magic has fallen
makes it impossible to render the technichals of that mysterious art into
tolerable English : they have therefore found it necessary to insert se-
veral passages in the original Italian. To those who are acquainted with
the French language, the version of a few passages by Mirabeau, will be
sufficient to throw some light on these dfficulties.

"Tu le sauras tout-a-1'heure: faitseulement tout ce que tume verras faire.
Aussitot Termite quitte ces vetemens, et la docile Alibech en faitautant.
Les voila nus l'un et l'autre: Rustique promene ses regards avides sur

cc corps d'albfitre.dont 1' Amour sembloit avoir arrondi les formes et

le diable se dechaisne avec une indomptable fureur. Eh ! mon Dieu,
mon pere. s'ecrie Alibech toute etonnee, qu'est-ce done que je vois la ?

Je n'ai rien de pareil (En disant ces mots, elle touche le diable, et

vous jugez qu'il leve avec plus d'audace sa Crete altiere.) Mon amie, e'est
precisement la le diable dontj'ai te parle, et qui me livre en cet instant
de cruel assauts. O que je suis heureuse de n'avoir pas un diable comme
cela pour me tormenter ! Ma fille, tu as beaucoup plus ; tu portes l'enfer
ou il faut le precipiter. (Et le ruse papelard presse d'une main ardente
le sanctuaire de l'amour, qu'il appcloit l'enfer.) Certes, Dieu me comble
de bienfaits en t'envoyant vers moi; il a voulu me donner des moyens de
vaincre l'esprit malin : permets, 6 mon enfant ! que je le plonge dans le
lieu de tenebres qu'il doit habiter, et nous gagnerons tous deux le ciel.
Vraiment, mon pere, vous etes bien le maitre, et je hais le diable autant
que vous.

Rustique en proie a ses impatiens desirs, s'elance sur la jeune Alibech;
comme un vautour insatiable saisit une timide colombe — et le diable
penetre dans l'enfer, non sans obstacles, non sans douleur — Alibech
pleuroit et s'ecrioit: ' O mon pere ! qu'il est mechant ce demon, puisque
dans l'enfer meme il fait encore du mal !' Rustique ne repondoit pas, il
n' avoit plus de voix pour repondre, et sans doute il etoit bien sur de re-
concilier bientot sa douce victime avec un diable qui ne fait jamais deux
fois les memes ravages.

• Le solitaire zele ne se lassoit pas de lui faire la guerre. Sa docile ne-
ophite le combattit bientot avec autant de ferveur que lui. 'Ah!' s'Seroit-
elle, apres ces salutaires combats, qu'ils disoicnt bien la verite, ces hon-
netes gens de Caspe, quandils m'assuroient que rien n'est sidelicieuxque
de servirle Createur ! Cettelguerre contre l'ennemi de l'hommeme procure
des plaisirs incomparables a tous ceux que j'avois connus.

Par une cause tres naturelle, mais assez triste, le zele de Rustique di-
minuoit a mesure que celui de la belle augmentoit. Cclle-ci en murmu-
roitsouvent.etdisoitason compagnon: Mais votre pietc devient tiede; sou-
venez-vous done, mon pere, que je suis venue ici pour priei Dieu, et non
pour rester oisive; remettons done le diable en enfer — ' Us l'y remet-
toient; mais le diable se retrouvoit tres fatigue. Rustique fut oblige
d'avouer a Alibech que cet esprit de tenebres perdoit ses forces quand il
etoit trop chatie. On ne devoit lui livrer de combats, ajoutoit-ii, que
lorsqu'il Sieve orguilleusement la tete, et non pour l'agacer, sans cesse
comme tufais; car il n'est pas chretien d'avoir, meme contre le diable,
une haine implacable. Mais, dit Alibech, s'l en est ainsi de votre diable,
il me semble que mon enfer ne devroit pas me tourmenter incessamment,
ou que Satan devroit toujours y etre renvoye quand 1' enfer le rappelle.

Mon pere, j'ai calmece malin esprit qui vous chagrinoit; appaiscz done les
flammes qni me devorent Rustique ne savoit que repondre; il ne sY-toit
pas defie de sa vertu, il avoit trop presumes de ses- forces. C'etoit un
double cmbarras; il s.cflbrcoit en vain de satisfaire la jeune fille; e'en
etoit un autre; Alibech se desperoit. ' Helas ! disoit elle.il faut re-
noncer anotresalut: Dieu ne peut jeter sur nous que des regards irrites."

NOVEL X. 195

Alia quale Rustico disse : Tu il saprai tosto, e pero farai
quello che a me far vedrai ; e cominciossi a spogliare quegli
pochi vestimenti, che aveva, e rimase tutto ignudo, e cosi an-
cora fece la fanciulla, e posesi in ginocchione a guisa, che ador-
ar yolesse : e diriempetto a se fece star lei. E cosi stando, essen-
do Rustico, piu che mai, nel suo disidero acceso, per lo vederla
cosi bella, venne la resurrezion della carne ; la quale ri-
guardando Alibech, e maravigliatasti, disse : Rustico, quella
che cosa e, che io ti veggio, che cosi si pigne in fuori, e non l'ho
io ? O figliuola mia, disse Rustico, questoe il diavolo, di che io
t'ho parlato : e vedi tu ora : egli mi da grandissima molcstia, tan-
ta, che io appena la posso softerire. Allora disse la giovane.
O lodato sia Iddio, che io veggio, clie io sto meglio/che non stai
tu, che io non ho cotesto diavolo io. Disse Rustico, tu di
vero ; ma tu hai un'altra cosa, che non l'ho io, et haila in
iscambio di questo. Disse Alibech: Ocfae? A cui Rusti-
co disse : Hai l'infemo ; e dicoti, che io mi credo, che Dio
t'abbia qui man data per la salute dell' anima mia; percioctae,
se questo diavolo pur mi dara questa noia, ove tu vogli avei
di me tanta pieta, e sotferire, che io in inferno il rimetta ; tu
mi darai grandissima consolazione, eta Dio farai grandissimo
piacere, e servigio; se tu per quello fare in queste parti ven-
uta se', che tu di. La giovane di buona fede rispose, Opadre
mio, poscia che io ho L'inferno, sia pure quando vi piacera
mettervi il diavolo. Disse allora Rustico ; Figliuola mia
benedetta sia tu : andiamo dunque, e rimettiamlovi si, che
egli poscia mi lasci stare. E cosi detto, menate la gio-
vane sopra uno de'loro letticelli, le' nsegno, come star si
dovesse a dover incarcerare quel maladetto da Dio. La gio-
vane, che mai piu non aveva in inferno messo diavolo alcu-
no, per la prima volta senti un poco di noia; perche ella disse
a Rustico. Per certo, padre mio, mala cosa dee essere questo
diavolo, e veramente uimico di Iddio che ancora all' inferno,
non che altrui duole quando egli v'e dentro rimesso. Disse
Rustico : Figliuola, egli non averra sempre cosi : e per fare,
che questo non avvenisse, da sei volte anziche di su il
letticel si movesero, ve'l rimisero ; tantoche per quella volta
gli trasser si la superbia del capo, che egli si stette volentieri in
pace. Ma ritornatagli poi nel seguente tempo piu volte, e
la giovane ubbidente sempre a trargliela si disponesse, av-
venne, che il giuoco le comincio a piacere ; e comincio a dire
a Rustico. Ben veggio, che il ver dicevano que valenti uomi-
ni in Capsa, che il servire a Dio era cosi dolce cosa, e per
certo io non mi ricordo, che mai alcuna altra ne facessi, che
di tanto diletto ; e piacere mi fosse, quanto e il rimettere il
diavolo in inferno ; e percio guidico ogn' altra persona, che ad
altro che a servire a Dio attende, essere una bestia. Per. la
qual cosa essa spesse volte andava a Rustico, e gli diceva.
Padre mio, io son qui venuta per servire a Dio, e non per

196 THIRD DAY.

istare oziosa ; andiamo a rimittere il diavolo in inferno. La
qual cosa fac cndo, diceva cella alcuna volta. llustico, io
non so perche il diavolo si fugga di ninferno, che s' egli vi
stesse cosi volcnticri, come l'inferno il riceve, e tiene; egli non
sene uscirebbe mai. Cosi adunque invitando spesso la gio-
vane Rustico, et al servigio di Dio confortandolo, si la bam-
bagia del t'arsetto tratta gli avea, cbe egli a talora ssntiva fred-
do, cbe un'altro sarebbe sudato ; e percio egli incomincio a
dire alia giovane, cbe il diavolo non era da gastigare, ne da
rimettere in inferno, se non quando egli per superbia levasse
il capo ; e noi, per la grazia di Dio, l'abbiamo si sgannato,
che egla priega Iddio di starsi in pace: e cosi alquanto im-
pose di silenzio alia giovane. La qual, poicbe vide cbe Rus-
tico non la ricbiedeva a dovere il diavolo rimittere in inferno
gli disse un giorno. Rustico, se il diavolo tuo e gastigato,
e piu non ti da noia me il mio ninferno non lascia siare ;
percbe tu farai bene, cbe tu col tuo diavolo aiuti ad at-
tutare la rabbia al mio inferno ; come io col mio ninferno,
ho ajutato a trarre la superbia al tuo diavolo Rustico, cbe
di radici d'erbe, e d'acqua vivea, potea male rispondere
alle poste, e dissele, cbe troppi diavoli vorrebbono essere
a potere l'inferno attutare : ma cbe egli ne farebbe cio,
cbe per lui si potesse ; e cosi alcuna volta le sodisfaceva ; ma
si era di rado, cbe altro non era cbe gittare una fava in boc-
ca al leone. Da cbe la giovane, non parendole tanto servire
a Dio, quanto voleva, mormorava, anzi, che no. Ma mentre
cbe tra il diavolo di Rustico, e l'inferno d'Alibech era, per
troppo disiderio, e per men potere, questa questione.

Some time after a dreadful fire broke out in the city of
Capsa and destroyed the father of Alibech, in his own house,
with the rest of his children, by which circumstance she be-
came sole heir to very considerable property. There was in
this city a young man named Neherbal, who had spent in
wranton extravagance all his wealth, and knowing that Alibech
was alive, immediately commenced a search after her, in hopes
of finding her before her property was dissipated by others.
His exertions were such that he found her and brought her
to Capsa against her own consent, but to the great relief of
poor Rusticus. Neherbal took Alibech to wife, but being
in conversation with some ladies of the city before that she
had slept with her husband, they asked in what manner
she served God in the desert. She said she served God by re-
placing the Devil into hell, and that Neherbal had been
guilty of a great crime in having taken her away from such
service. The ladies wished to know in what manner she re-
placed the Devil in hell- Alibech, as well by words as by
gestures, endeavoured to show them, which made them burst
into a fit of laughter, and say to her, be not melancholy, niy
child, for they know well enough bow to do that here.

NOVEL X. 197

Nekerbal will serve God well with you. They related this amono-
themselves throughout the city, and it became in time a com°
mon proverb, " that the most agreeable service we could
render God, was to replace the Devil in hell." The proverb
has passed from thence across the sea to us, and exists to the
present day.

By this, you young ladies, to whom the grace of God is
necessary, may learn to put the Devil into hell, because it is
very agreeable to God ; it affords exquisite pleasure to both
parties embarked in such devotions ; and much good will
grow out of it and follow it.

Dioneus having finished his story, and the queen knowing
her sovereignty to be now at an end, took the crown from her
head, and placed it upon Philostratus, saying, " We shall soon
see whether the wolves govern the sheep better than the sheep
have hitherto governed the wolves." He returned, with a
smile, " You have no more right to call us wolves, than you
have to call yourselves sheep ; however, I take upon me the com-
mand." Giving the proper orders then to the steward, as to
what he would have done, he turned about to the ladies, and
said ; — " It has been my misfortune, ever since I was able to
judge of any thing, to be always in love with one or other of you
ladies ; nor has it availed me in the least that I have been humble,
obedient, and desirous of pleasing to the utmost of my
power ; for I have constantly been discarded at last for some
other lover, going still from better to worse, and so I expect
to continue till I go to my grave. Therefore I intend that
our subject for this day shall be something suitable to my
own case ; namely, concerning those persons whose amours
have had an unfortunate conclusion." Having said this, he gave
them leave to depart. The garden was so pleasant, that
every one chose to walk thither, especially as the sun was
going down, where some diverted themselves with observing
and running after the kids, rabbits, and other creatures, that
were skipping about them. Dioneus and Flammetta sat to-
gether singing the song of Gulielmo and the Lady of Virtue.
Philomena and Pamphilus played at chess. And thus they
were all differently employed till the time of supper, which
came upon them a little unexpected ; when the table being
spread by the side of the fountain, they supped with a great
deal of pleasure. As soon as the cloth was taken away,
Philostratus, not to go out of the path which had been follow-
ed by the queens who had gone before him, commanded
Lauretta to begin a dance with a song, who replied, " May it
please your majesty, I know nothing of other people's songs,
nor my own at present, which would please so agreeable a set
of company ; but if you will accept of such an one as I can
call to mind, I will do it with a great deal of pleasure ;"
when the king made answer, " Nothing of yours can be dis-
s 2

193 THIRD DAY.

agreeable, sing such as you have." She then began with a
musical voice, but in a desponding manner, thus; —

Who can with so much cause complain,
As I, who love and sigh in vain .'

I.

He whose almighty word hath taught to move
The heavens, and every star above :

Hath made me as you see,
All brisk and debonaire, that 1 might be
A pattern of perfection priz'd ;

Yet I'm despised.

Who can, Src.

II.

I heretofore
Was by a fond admirer made to prove

The soft persuasive force of love ;
Swift past the hours of transport thus divine.
Whilst all his wishes, all his thoughts were mine
liut he's no more.

Who can, &c.

III.

One more morose and vain

Next made his court;

But from report
He jealous soon became ;
And falsely left me in distress,
Tho' conscious then I was,

That charms like mine, for general vicu designed,
Were to that lover's wishes still confined :

Who can, &c.

NOVEL X. 199

IV.

For ever be that day accurst,
When to commence a bride,
I laid my sable weeds aside,

Which dress so well became me first ;
Thrice happy damsel, had I died
Before that "fatal change I tried.

Who can, &c

V.

And thou, my dearest lover once, and friend,

Who, with the saints above,
Enjoy'st the fruits of virtue and of love,

My prayer attend !
Amidst the sweet repose, which now you find,

Think on me, poor distressed maid ;

And nature's final debt when paid,
May we then meet, and be for ever joined.

Who can with so much cause complain,
As I who love and si^h in vain 1

WThen this song was ended, lighted torches were brought,
and set upon the grass ; and they continued till the stars begun
to go down, singing and making merry. Then the king
thought it time for them to depart, and wishing one another
good night, they retired to their respective chambers.

.' I

THE DECAMERON.

THE FOURTH DAY

The sun had now driven all the stars from the heavens,
and dispelled the vapours of the night from the earth, when
Philostratus arose, and ordered all the company to be called.
'J hey walked into the garden ; and dined, when the time came,
where they had supped the preceding night. Taking a nap
afterwards, whilst the sun was at its height, they returned at
the usual time to the fountain side. Here Philostratus com-
manded Flammetta to begin, who spoke in a soft agreeable
manner, as follows.

NOVEL I.

Tanered, Prince of Salerno, puts his daughter's lover to death, and
sends his heart to her in a golden cup; she pours water upon
it, which she had poisoned, and so dies.

Oi B kin/ has given us a most melancholy subject for this day's
discourse ; considering, that as we came hither to be merry,
we must now recount other people's misfortunes, which can-
not he related without moving compassion, as well in those
who till, as in those who hear them. Perhaps it is design-
ed as an alloy to the mirth of the preceding days. But
whatever his reason may be for it. I have no husiness to make
any alteration with regard to his pleasure. I shall there
lore, mention an unhappy story to you, worthy of your most
lender compassioa

NOVEL [. 201

Tailored, prince of Salerno, was a most humane and gene-
rous lord, had he not in his old age, defiled his hands in a
lover's blood. He through the whole course of his life, had
one only daughter; and happy had he been not to have
possessed her. No child could be more dear to a parent than
she was, which made him loath to part with her in marriage ;
at length, not till she was a little advanced in years, he married
her to the Duke of Capoa, when she was soon left a widow,
and came home again to her father She was a lady of great
beauty and understanding, and continuing thus in the court
of her father, who took no care to marry her again ; and it
seeming not so modest in her to ask it, she resolved at last
to have a lover privately. Accordingly she made choice ot
a person of low parentage, but noble qualities, whose name
was Guiscard, with whom she became violently in love ; and
by often seeing him, and evermore commending his man-
ner and behaviour, he soon became sensible of it, and devoted
himself entirely to the love of her. Affecting each other thus
in secret, and she desiring nothing so much as to be with
him, and not daring to trust any person with the affair, con-
trived a new stratagem in order to apprise him of the means.
She wrote a letter, wherein she mentioned what she would
have him do the next day for her ; this she put into a hollow
cane, and giving it to him one day, she said pleasantly,
" You may make a pair of bellows of this for your servant to
blow the fire with this evening." He received it, supposing
very justly that it had some meaning ; and taking it home,
found the letter; which, when he had thoroughly consider-
ed, and knew what he had to do, he was the most overjoyed
man that could be ; and he applied himself accordingly to
answer her assignation, in the manner she had directed him.
On one side of the palace, and under a mountain, was a
grotto, which had been made time out of mind, and into
which no light could come but through a little opening dug
in the mountain, and which, as the grotto had been long in dis-
use, was grown over with briars and thorns. Into this grotto
was a passage, by a private^ stair-case, out of one of the
rooms of the palace, which belonged to the lady's apartment,
and was secured by a very strong door. This passage was so
far out of every one's thoughts, having been disused for so
long a time, that nobody remembered any thing about it ; but
love, whose notice nothing can escape, brought it fresh into
the mind of the enamoured lady ; who, to keep this thing en-
tirely private, laboured some days before she could get the
door open ; when, having gone down into the cave, and ob-
served the opening, and how high it might be from thence
to the bottom, she acquainted him with the fact. Guis-
card then provided a ladder of cords ; and casing himself
well with leather, to be defended from the thorns, fixing one

202 FOURTH DAY.

end of the ladder to the stump of a tree which was near, he
slid down by the help of it to the bottom, where he stayed
expecting the lady. The following day therefore, having
sent bet maids out of the way, under pretence that Bhe
uas going to lie down, and locking herself up alone in her
chamber, she opened the door and descended into the grotto
where they met to their mutual satisfaction. From thence
she shewed him the way to her chamber, where they were to-
gether the greatest part of the day, and taking proper
measures for the time to come, lie went away through the cave,
and she returned to her maids. The same he did the next
night; and he followed this course for a considerable time,
when fortune, as if she envied them their happiness, thought
fit to change their mirth into mourning. Tancred used some-
times to come into his daughter's chamber, to pass a little time
.away with her; and going thither one day after dinner, whilst
the lady, whose name was Ghismond, was with her maids
in the garden ; and being perceived by no one, nor yet will-
ing to take lur from her diversion, finding also the windows
shut, and the curtains drawn to the feet of the bed, he threw
himself down in a great chair, which stood in a corner of the
room, leaning his head upon the bed, and drawing the curtain
before him, as if he concealed himself on purpose, when he
chanced to fall asleep. In the mean time, Ghismond, having
made an appointment with her lover, left the maids in the gar-
den, and came into her chamber, which she secured, not
thinking of any person being there, and went to meet Guis-
card, who was in the cave waiting for her, and brought him
into her chamber ; when her father awoke, and was a witness
to all that passed between them. This was the utmost af-
fliction to him, and he was about to cry out, but upon second
thoughts he resolved to keep it private if possible, that he
might be able to do more securely, and with less disgrace,
what he had resolved upon. The lovers stayed together their
usual time, without perceiving any thing of Tancred, who
after they were departed, got out of the window into the gar-
den, old as he was. and went without being seen by any one,
very sorrowful to his chamber. The next night, according to
his orders, Guiscard was seized by two men as he was coming
< nt of the cave, and carried by them in his leathern doublet
to Tancred, who as soon as he saw him, said with tears in
•' Guiscard, you have ill requited my kindness to-
wards you by this outrage and shame which you have brought
upon me, and i f which this very day I have been an eye-wit-
Wnen h • made no other answer but this; "Sir, 1 >ve
hath greater power than either you or 1." Tancred then
ordered a guard to he -. t over him. And the next day he went
to his daughter's apartment as usual, she knowing nothing o!
what had happened, and shutting the door, that they might be

NOVEL I. 203

private together, he said to her weeping, " Daughter, I had
such an opinion of your modesty and virtue, that I could ne-
ver have believed, had 1 not seen it with my own eyes, that
you would have violated either, even so much as in thought.
My reflecting on this will make the pittance of life that isleft
very grievous to me. As you were determined to act in that
manner, would to Heaven you had made choice of a person
more suitable to your own cpiality ; but for this Guiscard, he
is one of the very meanest persons about my court. This
gives me such concern, that I scarcely know what to do. As
for him, he was secured by my order last night, and his fate
is determined. But with regard to yourself, I am influenced
by two different motives ; on one side, the tenderest regard
that a father can have for a child ; and on the other, the just-
est vengeance for the great folly you have committed. One
pleads strongly in your behalf ; and the other would excite
me to do an act contrary to my nature. Eut before I come
to a resolution, I would hear what you have to say for your-
self." And when he had said this, he hung down his head,
and wept like a child. She hearing this from the father, and
perceiving that their amour was not only discovered, but her
lover in prison, was under the greatest concern imaginable,
and was going to break out into loud and grievous lamenta-
tions, as is the way of women in distress; but getting the
better of this weakness, and putting on a settled counte-
nance, as supposing Guiscard was dead, and being resolved
firmly in her own mind not to outlive him, she spoke there-
fore with all the composure in the world to this purpose ; " Sir,
to deny what I have done, or to entreat any favour of you, is no
part of my design at present ; for as the one can avail me no-
thing, so I intend the other shall be of little service. I will
take no advantage of your love and tenderness towards me ;
but shall first, by an open confession, endeavour to vindicate
myself, and then do what the greatness of my soul prompts
me to. "lis most true that I have loved, and do still love
Guiscard; and whilst I live, which will not be long, shall con-
tinue to love him ; and if such a thing as love be after death,
even that shall not dissolve it. To this I was induced by
no frailty, so much as his superior virtue, and the little care
you took to marry me again. I preferred him before all the
world ; and as to the meanness of his station, to which you
so much object, that is more the fault of fortune who often
raises the most unworthy to a high estate, neglecting those of
greater merit. We are all formed of the same materials, and
by the same hand. The first difference amongst mankind
was made by virtue ; they who were virtuous were deemed
noble, and the rest were all accounted otherwise. Though this
lav," therefore may have been obscured by contrary custom,
yet is it discarded neither by nature, nor good manners, ft

204 FOURTH DAY

you then alone regard the worth and virtue of your courtiers, and
consider that of Guiscard, you will find him the only noble
person, ami the others a Bet of poltroons. With regard to his
worth and valour, I appeal to yourself. Who ever commended
man more for every thing that w;ts praiseworthy, than you
have commended him! and deservedly in my judgment;
but if I was deceived, it was by following your opinion. If
you say then, that I have had an affair with a person base
and ignoble, I deny it; if with a poor one, it is to your shame,
to let such merit go unrewarded. Now concerning your last
doubt, namely, how yen are to deal with me ; use your pleasure.
If you are disposed to commit an act of cruelty, 1 shall say
nothing to prevent such a resolution. But this I must ap-
prize you of, that unless you do the same to me, which you
either have done, or mean to do to Guiscard, my own bands
shall do it for you. Reserve your tears then for women ; and
if you mean to act with severity, cut us off both together,
if it appear to you that we have deserved it." The prince
knew full well the greatness of her soul ; but yet he could
by no means persuade himself, that she would have reso-
lution enough to do what her word seemed to threaten. Leav-
ing her then, with a design of being favourable to her, and
intending to wean her affection from her lover by taking him off,
he gd\e orders to the two men, who guarded him, to strangle
him privately in the night, and to take his heart out of his
body, and bring it to him. Accordingly they executed his
commands, and the next day he called for a golden cup, and
putting the heart into it, he had it conveyed by a trusty ser-
vant to his daughter, with this message : " Your father sends
this present to comfort you, with what was most dear to you ;
even as he was comforted by you, in what was most dear to
him." She had departed from her father, not at all moved as
to her resolution, and therefore had prepared the juices of
some poisonous plants, which she had mixed with water, to I e
at hand if what she feared should come to pass. When the
servant had delivered the present, and reported the message
according to his order, she took the cup without changing
countenance, .and seeing the heart therein, and knowing by the
words that it must be Guiscard's, she looked steadfastly at the
servant, and said, " My lather has done very wisely; such a
heart as this requires no worse a sepulchre than that of gold."
And upon this she lifted it to her mouth and kissed it, thus
continuing ; " All my life long, even to this hist period of it,
have I found my father's love most abundant towards me; but
now more than ever ; therefore return him in my name the
last thanks that I shall ever be able to give him for such a pre-
sent.*' Looking then towards the cup, which she held fast in
her hand she said : "Alas! the dearest end and centre of all
my wishes! Cursed be the cruelty of him, by whom these

e loy::

NOVEL I. 2C5

eyes now see you ; although my soul hath long viewed and
known you. You have finished your course; such an one in-
deed as fortune has thought tic to allow you ; you are arrived
at the goal to which we all tend ; you have left the miseries of
this world far behind, and have obtained such a sepulchre
from your very enemy, as your merit required. Nothing re-
mained to make your obsequies complete, but the tears of her
who was so dear to you whilst you were living: and which,
that you should not now want, Heaven puts it into the mind
of my relentless father to send you to me. And you shall
have them, though I had proposed to die unmoved, and with-
out shedding a tear ; and when I have done, I will instantly
join my soul to yours : for in what other company can I go
better and safer to those unknown regions ? as I make no
doubt your soul is hovering here, expecting mine." When
she had done speaking, she shed a flood of tears, kissing the
heart a thousand times ; whilst the damsels who were about
her knew neither what heart it was, nor what those her words
imported ; but being moved with pity they joined with her,
begging to know the cause of her grief, and endeavouring all
they could to comfort her. After she had lamented as much
as she thought proper, she raised up her head, and wiping
her eyes, said, " Thou heart most dearly beloved. All my duty
is now performed towards thee ; nothing more remains, but
for my soul to accompany thine." Upon this she bade them
reacli the vessel of water which she had prepared the day be-
fore, and pouring it into the cup with the heart, which she
had sufficiently washed with her tears, she drank it all off
without the least dread or apprehension, and threw her-
self upon the bed with the cup in her hand, composing her
body as decently as she could, and pressing her lover's heart
to her's, she lay without uttering a word more, expecting death.
The maids, when they saw this, though they knew not what
it was she had drunk, sent to acquaint Tancred ; who fearing
what had really happened, came into the room soon after she
had laid herself down, and finding it was too late, began to la-
ment most grievously : she then said to him, " Sir, save those
tears against worse fortune that may happen, for I want them
not. Who but yourself would mourn for a thing of your own
doing ? But if any part of that love now remain in you, which
you once had for me, the last request I shall make is, that as
you would not suffer us to be happy together whilst living, that
our two bodies (wherever you have disposed of his) may be
publicly interred together when dead." Extreme grief would
suffer him to make no reply : when finding herself draw-
ing near her end, she strained the heart strongly to her breast,
saying, " Receive us Heaven, I die!" Then closing her eyes,
all sense forsook her, and she departed this miserable life.
Sucn an end had the amours of Guiscard and Ghismond, as

20G FOURTH DAY.

yon have now heard ; whilst the prince, repenting of his cruelty
when it waa too late, had them buried in one grave in the
most public manner, to the general grief of all the people of
Salerno.

THE FOUBTH DAT.

NOVEL II.

Friar Albert makes a woman believe an angel is in love with her,
and in that shape deceives her. Afterwards, for fear of her
relations, he throws himself out of the window, and takes shel-
ter in a poor man's house ; who exposes him the next day in the
public market-place in the form of a wild man ; when he is
discovered by two friars, and put into prison.

The story related by Flammetta drew tears several times from
the eyes of all the company ; but it being now finished, the
king looking gravely, said, " I would have given my life
willingly, to have enjoyed but half the pleasure which these
lovers met with. Nor need you wonder at that, because I un-
dergo a thousand deaths daily, without the least pleasure what-
ever in return. But letting my fortune alone for the present, it
is my will that Pampinea proceed ; who, if she goes on as
Flammetta has begun, I shall expect to receive some small de-
gree of comfort more to my affliction."

Pampinea, finding herself fixed upon for the next, and hav-
ing more regard to the inclination of the company, which she
very well knew, than the king's command, and more desirous
of diverting them, than of satisfying his melancholy temper,
resolved upon a novel which would make them laugh, keeping
still to the subject proposed : — It is a common saying, said
she, that a wicked man, who has the reputation of being virtuous
and good, may do many bad things, and nobody believe it.
This affords ample matter for discourse, and a fit handle for
me to shew how great the hypocrisy is of some of the religious,
who have their garments long and large : their faces made
pale artificially, and on purpose ; their language meek and

206 POURTH DAY.

humble, to trrt men's goods from them ; yet sour and harsh
enough in reproving them oftho i ■ I which they tbem-

guilty; whilst they pretend, that they themselves
merit heaven u much by receiving as the others do by giving.
Who also, d t at if they were to gel thither by th<
deavours, but as though they were the possessors and lords of it,
that dies a hitter or worse place
therein, according to the sum of money bequeathed to them;

.in','- themselves in tip' first place, it' they really mean
what they say, and those afterwards who put their trust in them.
Of whom, might I have the liberty of speaking all I know, I
could quickly disclose to many simple people, what wick<
is too often concealed under that h ly habit I could wish
however, that the sane- Buccess might attend the hypocrisy of
them all, as befel a certain friar, who was concerned in some
of the best families in Venice, the relation of which may •
some diversion to you after your grief for the death of Ghismond.
There lived at I mola a man of very had lite, called Berto
della Massa, whose evil works had gained him such a character
there, that nobody could believe him even when he spoke the
truth. Finding therelore, that all his quirks and cunning
would stand him in no farther stead at linola, lie removed, io
a kind of despair, to Venice, the common receptacle of all
sort of wickedness, when he resolved to manage in a quite dif-
ferent manner from what he had done; an I as it he felt B vie
remorse of conscience for his past life, pretending also to he
seized with uncommon zeal and devotion, he turned friar, cal-
ling himself Father Albert of Imola. In this habit he 1 1 1 mi d
to lead a mighty sanctified life, highly commending penance
and abstinence, and eating no flesh, and drinking no wine]
hut then it was when he could get neither to please him. .He-
sides this, when he was officiating at the altar at any time, if
he was taken notice of by many people, he would he sure to

over our Saviour's passion, having tears enough at com-
mand whenever he pleased. To he short, what with his preach*
ing anil ervim_r together, he had so far insinuated himself into
the good graces of the people of Venice, that there was
il! made hut he Was left executor : he had the i are
also and disposal of many people's money ; and was the great

adviser and confessor to the greatest part both of men

women ; BO that of a wolf he became the shepherd, and the fame
of his sanctity was greater than ever was that of St. Francis.
Now it happened, that a vain simple lady, named Lisetta de
Ca Quirino, wife to a merchant, who was I lan-

ders, came one day, with some other women to confess to this
holy friar; and being asked, as she was confessing, it she had
a lover ; replied, putting on an angry countenance, "What!
father, have youno eyes in your head ? Wheredo you see a wo-
man se handsome as myself ? 1 could have lovers enough;

NOVEL II. 209

but my beauty is designed for none of them : it is fit only to
appear in heaven itself." Using many more expressions of
that sort, enough to give any one a surfeit to hear them, Fa-
ther Albert immediately saw her blind side and thought her
fit game for his purpose, but deferred using any flattering
speeches till a more convenient opportunity : to shew himself
however, holy for that time, he began to reprove her, telling
her it was vain-glory, and so forth. Whereupon she called
him brute, and told him he could not distinguish beauty
when he saw it. He then, not to provoke her too far, took
her confession, and dismissed her. A little time after, taking
a friend with him whom he could trust, to the house, he
went with her to one side of the hall, where nobody could see
them, and falling down upon his knees, said, " Madam, I must
beg for Heaven's sake, that you would forgive me for blas-
pheming your beauty as I did last Sunday ; since I was so
chastised the following liight for it, that I could not rise
out of my bed before to-day." " And who," quoth the fool-
ish lady, " chastised you in that manner ?" "I will tell you,"
replied Albert ; " as I was saying my prayers that night, ac-
cording to my usual manner, suddenly a great light shone around
me, and as I turned about to see what it was, a beautiful
youth appeared, with a staff in his hand who took hold of my
hood, and threw me down upon the floor, and beat me in such
a manner, that I was almost killed. Upon my asking what
all that correction was for, he made answer, ' Because thou
didst so saucily presume to reprove the celestialbeauty of Madam
Lisetta,whom Hove above all things in the world.' ' And who are
you then V I demanded. He replied, ' I am an angel.' ' I
humbly beg then,' quoth I, 'that you would forgive me.' He
answered, ' I do forgive you, upon condition that you go the
very first opportunity to her, and obtain her pardon : and
unless she thinks fit to excuse you, I shall return, and give
you such discipline as you shall feel as long as you live.'
What he said more I dare not speak, unless I have your
forgiveness." The simple woman, who was puffed up till she
was fit to burst with vanity, gave ear to this ridiculous story and
said, " I told you, Father Albert, that my beauties were of
the celestial kind ; I am sorry for what you have suffered, and
heartily forgive you ; but tell me what the angel said be-
sides." "That I will," said he; "but one thing I must
enjoin you, namely, that you tell it to no person living, unless
you have a mind to ruin all ; for you are certainly the happiest
woman on the face of the earth. He told me then, that he
had such a regard for you, that he should frequently come to
visit you, if he thought you would not be too much terrified.
He bid me tell you therefore, that he should come some
evening in human shape, and would know from you when
you would choose to see him, and whose form and per-
t2

210 FOURTH DAY.

son you would have him assume." She replied, that she
approved of it very well, that she should he alone this eve-
ning, and that whatever form and manner he came in, she
should not he afraid. ".Madam," he continued, "you talk
well, it shall he done as you have agreed ; hut I have a fa-
vour to beg, which will cost you nothing, it is that he may
put on my person : my soul will he in a kind of trance in
the mean tune, as it will he then disengaged from the hody."
" I consent with all my heart," answered she ; ' it will he some
amends for the hlows you have received." " But," said he, " the
door must he open, otherwise as he comes in human shape,
he would not he ahle to enter your house." She promised it
should be done, ami when night came, he went to a woman's
house, that he used to frequent when he had such affairs in
hand, where getting his sham wings, and other accoutrements
ready, he came flying at last into the lady's chamber. He stay-
ed witli her all that night, and at break of day went out in the
same manner as he came in; whilst the lady was so proud
of her gallant, that she could not help boasting of it to one of
her neighbours, who was so tickled with the story, that she
told it amongst a whole company of gossips, who again re-
porting it to others, in less than two days it was known all over
Venice. Her relations heard of it amongst the rest, who, for
several nights together, kept constant watch to make a dis-
covery if possible, of this angel. One night accordingly,
he was coming to reprimand her for making it public, and
had no sooner got into the room, and stripped himself of
his wings, and other habiliments, but they were at the door !
which he perceiving, and seeing no other way to escape, opened
the casement, that was over the great canal, and threw him-
self directly into it.

As the river was deep, and he able to swim, he received
no harm : espying then a cottage on the other side, with the
door open, he made towards it, and entering, entreated the
honest man, telling him a thousand lies concerning the reason
of his coming there in that manner, and at that time, to save
his life ; who being moved with pity, and having some affairs
which called him away for a time, desired him to go into his
bed, and lie there till he should return ; he locked him then
in the house, and went about his business. The lady's rela-
tions, upon coming into her chandler, found that the angel
had left his wings, and Mown away without them. They gave
her therefore, a severe reprimand, calling hsr all the vile
simple women in the world; and they carried oil' the angel's
implements along with them. In the mean time, as soon as it
was day, the man being on the other side of the RialtO, heard
tin- whole story of a fellow's personating an angel, to ho with
Lisetta, and how he was discovered by her relations, ami for-
ced to leap into the canal, and that nobedv knew what

NOVEL II. 211

was become of him ; whence he concluded that it must be the
same man he had in his house. Finding this, upon his com-
ing home, to be the fact, after some discourse together, he
made him send home for five hundered ducats, x threatening
otherwise to deliver him up to the woman's friends, when, af-
ter the money was brought, and the friar desirous of getting
away, the honest man said farther to him, " I see no way for
your escape but one : to-day we make a great rejoicing, when
one person is to bring a man clothed like a bear, another like
a wild man, and so on ; and in that manner people are to come
under different disguises into St. Mark's Place, as to a hunt ;
and when the diversion is over, every man leads away the per-
son that he brings, to what quarter he pleases. Now, if be-
fore any one knows that you are here, you will consent to be
led in one of those disguises, I will carry you afterwards
where you will ; otherwise I do not see how you can get away
without being observed ; for the relations are every where out
upon the scout for you." This seemed a hard sentence to the
friar ; but his fear of being discovered was so great, that he
consented at last : accordingly he was hesmeared all over with
honey, and covered all over with down ; and putting a chain
about his neck, and a vizard upon his face, with a great stick
in one hand, and a couple of butcher's mastiffs in the other,
a man was sent before to the Rialto, to make public proclama-
tion, that all who had a mind to see the angel so much talked
of, might repair to St. Mark's Place : which was a Venetian
trick at best. — When that was done, he was led forth, and all
the way as he was carried along, there was a great outcry of
the people, wondering what thing it was ; and being brought
into the great square, what with the people that followed, and
those that flocked hither upon hearing the proclamation, the
crowd was immensely great. The fellow then tied his wild
man to a pillar, pretending to wait till the sport began ; in the
mean time the flies and wasps, as he was be daubed with honey,
began to grow exceedingly troublesome to him. Perceiving
at last, the square sufficiently crowded, under pretence of turn-
ing him loose, he took off the vizard, and said, " Gentlemen,
as I find we are to have no other sport to-day, I intend to
shew you the angel which used to come at nights to visit the
Venetian ladies," No sooner was the vizard removed, but they
knew him to be Father Albert, and there was a most terrible
outcry against him, everyone pelting him with whatever filthi-
ness came to their hands, till at length the news reached the
convent, when two of his brethren came, and brought him one
of their habits, and carried him away with the utmost difficul-
ty, and he was consequently thrown into prison, where he ended
his days in a miserable manner. It was thus this man's con-
summate hypocrisy and blasphemy met with their due reward;
and may the like fate attend all such villains as himself!

212

THE FOUBTH DAY

NOVEL III.

Three young men fall in love with three sisters, and fly with them
into Crete. The eldest destroys her lover out of jealousy ; and
the second, by consenting to the Duke of Crete's request, is the
means of saving her sister's life ; afterwards her lover kills
her, and goes away with the eldest sister. The third couple is
charged with her death, which they confess, and afterwards fee
their keepers, and making their escape, die at Rhodes at last
in great necessity.

When Philostratus heard the conclusion of Pampinea's novel,
he stood some time in suspense, and at last, turning towards
her, he said —

" There was something good in the end of your story, but
the beginning was much too ludicvous." Then pointing to
Lauretta, he added, " Do you go on with a better if you can."
She smilingly replied, " You are too hard upon poor lovers,
to desire that their affairs should always end unfortunately.
Nevertheless I shall in compliance to your orders, give an ac-
count of three persons who were equally unhappy that way ;
and thus I proceed : — Every vice, as you very well know, may
turn not only to the disadvantage of such as are subject to it,
but of others also : and of all vices anger is that which hurries
us along most blindly to our ruin. Now this passion seems
to be a sudden and rash emotion, raised in us by an injury re-
ceived ; which, driving away all sense and reason, and veiling
the eyes of our understanding, kindles in our souls a most vio-
lent fury. And as men are governed by it too often, though
some more than others, yet is it of worse consequence in wo-
men, as it is more easily kindled in them, and burns also with

NOVEL III. 213

a more fierce and lasting flame. Nor is this to be wondered at ;
for fire in its own nature, is apt to take hold the soonest of
such things as are of the lightest consistence ; and our texture
we know, is much more delicate than that of men. Seeing there-
fore how prone we are to it naturally ; considering also, that no-
thing can recommend us more to the good esteem of the men,
with whom we are to spend our lives, than mildness and good-
nature ; and on the contrary, that anger is attended with
infinite danger and trouble ; I shall, for your greater defence
and security in this respect, relate the loves of three young
men, and as many ladies, who all became miserable, through
the fury of one.

Marseilles, you know, is an ancient and famous city in Pro-
vence, situated on the sea-coast, and was better stored formerly
with rich citizens and wealthy merchant.-, than it is at present.
Amongst whom was a person called Narnald C'luada, one of a
fair character and immensely rich, who, besides his other
children, had three daughters; the two eldest, who were twins,
were about fifteen years of age, and the other fourteen ; and
there was nothing wanting to the disposing of all three in mar-
riage, but the return of their father, who was gone on a trading
voyage to Spain. The names of the two former were Ninetta
and Magdelena, and of the last Bertella. Now there was a
worthy young gentleman, but of small fortune, named Restag-
none, in love with Ninetta, and she having the same good
liking for him, this affair was carried on for some time between
them, without any body's knowing any thing of the matter.
In the mean time, two other young gentlemen, who were both
rich, their fathers being just dead, fell in love with the other
two sisters ; the one, whose name was Folco, having made
choice of Magdalena, and the other called Ughetto, of Bertella.
Restagnone being apprised of this by Ninetta, contrived a
way to make up his want of wealth by their love, and getting
into company sometimes with one, and then with the other,
and going with them, after they became a little acquainted to-
gether, to see their mistresses and his own, he took occasion
one day to invite them to his house, when he spoke to them
in this manner : " Gentlemen, our acquaintance for some
time past may have convinced you of the great esteem I
have for you, so as to have your interests at heart equally with
my own : I shall now acquaint you therefore, with a thought
which has just come into my mind, and you may do afterward
as shall seem most proper. Jt plainly appears that you have
the utmost regard and value for the two young ladies, and I
have the same for the third sister. I think, if you will consent
to it, that I have found out an expedient agreeable enough,
which is as follows : you are both very rich, and I am otherwise ;
make then one joint stock, and let me come in a partner with
you, and resolve on what part of the world we shall go to, to live

214 FOURTH DAY.

happily together, and I will undertake that the three sisters
shall bear us company, with a good part of their father's
wealth ; so that every one of us may have his mistress, and
we live like brethren together, with great comfort and satisfac-
tion. Say then what you mean to do.

The young gentlemen were so much in love, that they
gave themselves very little time to reflect upon what was
proposed, but declared, that happen what would, they were
ready to comply. Upon this, he took the first opportunity
that offered, and which was no easy matter to compass, of
being with Ninetta, when he made the same proposal to her,
enforcing it by divers reasons, which he had no great occasion
to do, because it was entirely to her, liking. She told him
therefore, that she consented herself, and would persuade her
sisters ; that in the mean time, he should get everything
in readiness for such an expedition. He returned then to his
two friends, who grew impatient to be gone, and told them
that everything was in readiness on the part of the ladies.
Their resolution was to go to Crete ; and selling all their es-
tates under the pretence of turning merchants, they bought
a light frigate, which they armed and victualled with great se-
crecy against the time appointed. During this, Ninetta who
was no stranger to her sisters' inclinations, had wrought so
far upon them by her fine persuasions, that they longed for
nothing so much as their departure. The night being come
therefore, when they were to embark, the three ladies opened
their father's cabinet, and took out a great quantity of money
and jewels, with which they stole away to meet their lovers,
who were expecting them at the place appointed ; when they
immediately set sail and made no stay anywhere till they came
to Genoa the next night, where they consummated their
several nuptials. From thence they went from port to port,
till in eight days they arrived at Crete, where they purchased
estates and fine houses, and lived like noblemen, keeping
great numbers of servants, horses, dogs, &c. for their diver-
sion ; so that none seemed to enjoy more pleasure and satisfac-
tion than themselves. Passing their time away in this man-
ner, it happened (as it happens every day, that things however
coveted by us, nauseate by over great plenty) that Restagnone,
who had an ardent' affection for Ninetta, before she was in
his power, began now to be abundantly more cool in that re-
spect ; for being at a feast one day, he met with a lady, with
whom he became violently in love, and he began to give treats
and entertainments for her sake, till his wife grew so jealous
that he could never stir a step but she had notice of it, and
expressed the utmost uneasiness both in her words and beha-
viour to him on that account. Rut as plenty always cloys, and
as to have what we want denied us, whets the appetite, so
did this vexation ol her's increase the flame of his love. For

NOVEL III. 215

whether it was that he had really accomplished his desires or
not, Ninetta, whoever told her so, believed it, and she conse-
quently fell into such a fit of sorrow and fury afterwards, that
her love for her husband was exchanged into extreme hatred ;
and she resolved to revenge the wrong she had sustained with
his death. Meeting then with an old Grecian woman, skilled
in all sorts of poisons, she engaged her, by presents and
large promises, to prepare a deadly water, which she gave
him, without any^farther consideration, one evening when
he was very thlrsc/, to drink; and the power of it was such,
that he died beiore morning. Folco and Ughetto, with their
wives, knowing nothing of his dying of poison, lamented over
him very much along with Ninetta, and had him honourably
buried. But not many days afterwards the old woman was taken
up for some other crime, when she confessed this. Where-
upon the duke of Crete, without saying a word to any person
about it, had Folco's palace bes*£ one night, and Ninetta
brought quietly away prisoner from thence ; who, without any
torture, confessed the whole of Restagnone's death. He therefore
acquainted Folco and Ughetto with it, who used all their inter-
est with him to prevent her being burnt, which they under-
stood was likely to be her sentence, but all to no purpose, the
duke seemed resolved to have justice done. Hereupon Mag-
dalena, a very beautiful lady, and whom the duke had long ta-
ken a fancy to, though hitherto to no purpose, supposing now,
that by obliging him, she might save her sister's life, sent
privately to let him know that she would comply with his en-
treaties upon .two conditions : the one was, that her sister
should be set free ; and the other, that the whole should be a
secret. The duke liked the message, and agreed to what was
proposed. Wherefore, keeping Folco and Ughetto prisoners
one night, by her consent, as if he wanted some farther informa-
tion, he went privately afterwards to Magdalena, and pretend-
ing that he had caused Ninetta to be put in a sack, and thrown
into the sea, he took her along with him to her sister, to whom
he gave her up, according to their agreement, charging Mag-
dalena to send her out of the way, to prevent all blame and
censure, and lest he should be compelled to proceed with ri-
gour against her. The next morning Folco and Ughetto were
told that their sister was put to death, and being released,
went home to comfort their wives for the loss of her; and Mag-
dalena endeavoured, as much as possible, to keep her con-
cealed ; yet Folco had some suspicion that she was in the house,
and was at last convinced of it ; which occasioned some jealousy,
as he knew the duke's regard for his wile : therefore he ask-
ed her how it happened that Ninetta was there? She began
then a long story, to which he gave but little credit, and forced
her at last to confess the truth. Upon which being provoked
to the last degree, he drew his sword and stubbed her to the

21G FOURTH DAY.

heart, she begging in vain for mercy: fearing afterwards the
duke's resentment he went into the room to Ninette, and said
cheerfully to her; " Let us go away directly, according to your
sister's appointment, for fear you should fall into the hands
of the duke." She was desirous of getting away, and accord-
ingly, without taking any have of h< r sister, went off in great
haste along with him, who took only what money was at
hand, which was but little ; and going on shipboard together it
was never known whither they were carried. Magdalena
being found dead the next day, sonic- persons out of ill will to
I ghetto, carried the news instantly to the duke, who came in
all haste to the house, as he had an excessive love for her, and
seized upon Ughetto and his lady, and put them to the rack,
by which means he made them confess what they were entire
strangers to : namely, that they were equally concerned in her
death with their brother, who was fled, and finding that there
was no other prospect of saving their lives, they bribed their
keepers with a large sum of money, which they always had in
readiness for any extraordinary occasion, and went immediately
on board a ship, without being able to take any of their ef-
fects, and fled to Rhodes, where they died some time after
in great distress and poverty. To such an end did the fool-
ish love of Restagnone, and the ungoverned fury of Ninetta,
bring both themselves and others.

217

THE FOUBTH DAY

NOVEL IV.

Gerbino, contrary to a treaty made by King William, his grand-
father, fought with a ship belonging to the King of Tunis,
with a design to take away his daughter ; who being slain by
the ship's crew, he slew them likewise, and was afterwards be-
headed for it.

Lauretta had now concluded her novel, when the company
gave their different opinions concerning the fate of these un-
happy lovers ; this person saying one thing and that another,
till at length the king, raising up his head, as if from a pro-
found study, made the next signal to Eliza, who began as
follows : —

There are many people who are persuaded that love is only
kindled at the eyes, making a jest at those who maintain the
possibility of people's being enamoured by report: but how
far they are mistaken will be seen in the following story ;
wherein will be shewn, not only the power of fame in that res-
pect; but that it has brought divers persons also to a miserable
death.

William, the second king of Sicily, (as their histories relate)
had two children ; a son named Ruggieri, and a daughter
called Constantia, which Ruggieri died before his father, leav-
ing a son called Gerbino, whom his grandfather took care to
bring up, and he became a most accomplished prince. Nor
did his fame confine itself to the bounds of his own country ;
but was echoed in divers parts of the world, especially in
Barbary, which was then tributary to the King of Sicily.
Amongst others, who had heard of his singular worth and
character, was a daughter of the King of Tunis, who, in the
opinion of all that ever saw her, was as beautiful a woman as
u

I OURTH DAY.

lived, with a soul equally noble and perfect: who, in-
quiring always after people of worth, received from all hands
a most extraordinary account of Gerbino's merit and noble
exploits, which were so pleasing to her, that conceiving within
her own mind the idea of his person, she became violently in
love, and was never more pleased than when he was the sub-
j. rt of their discourse, t>n the other hand, no less had her
tame reached Sicily, as well as other countries, and was parti-
cularly agreeable to the prince, who had conceived the same
love tor her ; and being desirous above all things of seeing
her, had charged Bonie of his friends, till he could obtain
leave from his grandfather to go himself to Tunis, to make
his love known, in the best manner they were able, privately
to her; and to bring him some tidings concerning her. This
was managed very dexterously by one of them, who went
under the character of a jeweller; and she received him with
great cheerfulness ami satisfaction, declaring a mutual regard
for the prince, and as a proof of it, sent him a present of one of
her richest jewels. He received it with great joy, anil wrote
several letters, presenting her with things of great value, and
obliging himself to wait upon her in person, as fortune allord-
ed h i in an opportunity. Things being carried so far, and far-
ther than they ought to have been, to their mutual satisfac-
tions ; it happened, that her father promised her in marriage to
the King of Granada, which gave her infinite concern, and she
would gladly, could she have found a time, have lied away from
her father to the prince. lie in like manner, hearing of this
contract, was afflicted beyond measure, and resolved, if it
should happen that she was sent by sea, to take her away by
force. The king of Tunis hearing something of Gerbino's
love, and what he designed, ami well knowing his resolution
and great valour: when the time came that she was to depart,
sent to the King of Sicily to acquaint him with his design, and
to desire a safe passport ; who, knowing nothing of his grand-
son's affection towards the lady, nor thinking that it was de-
sired upon that account, readily granted it. The King of 'fu-
nis then fitted out a stately ship at Carthage, and providing
it with every thing necessary to transport his daughter to
Granada, waited only lor the time that had been appointed.
Whilst this was in agitation, the young lady sent one ofhei
servants to Palermo to acquaint the prince that she was to
had in a tew days, and that it would now appear whether
he was a person of such valour as had been always reported,
or had that love for her which he had often declared. The
message Was faithfully delivered; and the prince, knowing at tin-
same time, that his grandfather had granted a passp rt, was
at a lo-~s how to behave; but reflecting upon the lady's v ■
and that he might acquit himselt with honour, lie hired two
light ships at Me iua, which he took care to have well-

NOVEL IV, 219

manned, and sailed with them to the coast of Sardinia, expect-
ing that the ship which had his mistress on board must take
that course. In a few days that expectation was answered, and
he beheld her sailing with a light gale of wind near the place
where he was stationed. Upon this he addressed himself to his
companions in the following manner : " My friends, if you
are men of the worth I suppose you to possess, I imagine
there is none of you but must have felt the extraordinary
power of love, without which, as I judge by myself, there can
be nothing virtuous and pi-aiseworthy. If then you have ever
been, or are now in love, you will the more easily comprehend
the nature of my design. It is love that makes me call upon
you ; and the object of it is in the ship before you. Besides
that, there is a store of riches, which if you fight manfully,
you may easily obtain. For my part I desire nothing but
the lady, for whose sake I have taken up arms : everything
else shall be yours. Let us go then boldly to the attack ;
fortune seems to favour our undertaking ; they lie still, un-
able to get along for want of wind." The prince had no oc-
casion to make use of such an exhortation ; his people, eager
for rapine, were ready enough to obey his orders. They
declared their approbation then with a great shout, whilst the
trumpets sounded, and they all armed themselves, and
rowed towards the ship. In like manner the other ship's
crew, seeing two galleys come towards them, and that there
was no possibility of escaping by flight, stood resolutely
upon their defence. The prince being come sufficiently
near, ordered that the masters of the ship should come on
board, unless they meant to fight. Whilst the Saracens, un-
derstanding who they were, and what their demand was,
told them, that it was contrary to treaty, and shewed them
their passport : declaring farther that they would neither
surrender themselves, nor part with anything in the ship
till they were forced to it. The prince, now seeing the
lady upon deck, whose charms exceeded even fancy itself,
replied, " Your passport has no weight with me; either de-
liver up the lady or prepare for fight." Whereupon they
began slinging darts and stones on both sides ; battering
one another for a considerable time, to the great damage
of both. At length, when the prince saw that little good was
to be done that way, he took a small pinnace which he had
brought with him from Sardinia, and, setting it on fire, towed
3t with his two vessels sideways of the ship ; which the
Saracens observing, and being now assured that they must
either surrender or perish, had the lady brought from below,
where she was all in tears, when they called upon the prince,
and murdered her before his face, begging in vain for mercy
and his assistance, and threw her into the sea, saying,
" Take her, such as we can now give thee ; and such as thy

820 FOURTH DAY.

breach f>f fnith hath deserved" He, pooinp their cruelty, nor
caring now what became of his own life, in spite of ail the
darts and Btones that were thrown at him, came up close

with the ship, and boarded her; ami as a famished linn,
when he gets among a herd of cattle, fives aloose to his fury

before he satieties his hunger, SO did the prince slay .-ill

that came in his way, whilst the fire getting a-head in the
ship. In- ordered the Bailors to save what booty they were able
for themselves, and he returned to his ship little pleased with so

dear a conquest Afterwards having recovered the lady's body
cut of the sea and lamenting heartily over it, he returned to
Sicily and hail it buried in a little island over against Trapani,
from whence he ciine sorrowfully home. The King of Tu-
nis upon hearing the news, sent 'ambassadors all in deep
mourning to the King of Sicily, complaining <>f the breach of
faith, and relating in what manner it had been done. Wil-
liam was much concerned at this, ami seeing no way by
which he could deny them the justice they demanded, had his
grandson seized ; and notwithstanding the intercession or
every one of his barons, ordered his head to he struck off in
his presence; choosing rather to be without a grandson, than
be {bought a king without honour. So miserable was the end
of these two lovers within a few days of each other, without
tasting the least fruit of their loves.

221

THE FOUBTH DAY.

NOVEL V.

Isabella's brothers put her lover to death ; he appears to her in a
dream, and shews her where he is buried. She privately
brings away his head ; and, putting it into a pot of basil, and
other sweet herbs, laments over it a considerable time every
day. At length they take it away from her, and she soon af-
ter dies for grief.

Eliza having concluded her novel, which was commended by
the king, Philomena was then ordered to begin ; who full of
pity for the two unhapny lovers last mentioned, fetched a deep
sigh, and said : — My lovel will not be conserning people of
such high rank as those about whom Eliza has now been re-
lating, but perhaps it may be equally moving ; and I am led
to it from her mentioning Messina, where the thing happened.
— There lived then, at Messina, three young merchants, who
were brothers, and left very rich by their father : they had an
only sister, a lady of worth and beauty, who was unmar-
ried. Now they kept a youth, byway of factor, to manage their
affairs, called Lorenzo, one of a very agreeable person, who,
being often tn Isabella's company, and finding himself no way
disagreeable to her, confined all his wishes to her only>
which in some little time had their full effect. This affair was
carried on between them for a considerable time, without the
least suspicion ; till one night it happened, as she was going
to his chamber, that the eldest brother saw her, without her
knowing it. This afflicted him greatly ; yet being a prudent
man, he made no discovery, but lay considering with himself
till morning, what course was best for them to take. He then
related to his brothers what he had seen, with regard to their
u 2

■2-2-2 ■ HI DAY.

sister ami Loren ng debate, it was resolred

ii n> take no notice of it lor die present, but to m I ••
away with him privately, the Brat opportunity, that they night
remove all cau* of n proach 1 »<»t h to their sister and themselves.
Continuing in this resolution, they behaved with the same
freedom and civility to Lon nzo a.> ever, till at length, undei a
pretence «>t' going out of the city, upon a party <>i pleasure, they
carried him along with them, and arriving at a lonesome place,
fit for their purpose, they slew him, unprepared to make any
defence, ana buried him there ; then returning to Messina,
tli. v gave it out, that they bad sent him on a journey of busi-
ness, which was easily believed, because they t'n quentlydid so.
In some time, she thinking that he made a long stay, began
to inquire earnestly ol her brother concerning him, and this

she did so often, that at last one of them said to lur. " \\ hat

have you to do with Lorenzo, that you are continually teaz-
ing us about him ? [fyou inquire any more, you shall reci ive
Buch an answer a< you will by no means approve of." This
grieved her exceedingly; and, fearing she knew not why. she
remained without asking anymore questions; yet all the night
would she lament and complain of his long stay; and tints
she spent her life in a tedious and anxious waiting for his re-
turn ; till one night it happened, that having wept b
asleep, he appeared to her in a dream, all pale and ghastly, with
his clothes rent in pieces ; and she thought he spoke to her
thus : " My dear Isahel, thou grievest incessantly tor my ab-
sence, and art continually calling upon me; hut know that
I can return no more to thee-, for the hist day that thou sawest
me, thy brothers put me to death." And describing the place
where they had buried him, he hid her call no more upon him,
nor ever expect to see him again ; and disappeared. She wa-
king, and giving credit to the vision, lamented exceedingly;
and not daring to say any thing to her brethren, resolved to
go to the place mentioned in the dream, to be convinced of the
it alitv of it. Accordingly, having leave to go a little way into
the country along with a companion of hers, who was acquaint-
ed with all her affairs, she went thither, and clearing the
ground of the dried l< aves, With which it was covered, she ob-
i where the earth seemed to he lightest, and dug there.
She had not search, d far before she came to her lover's body,
which she found in no degree wasted ; this confirmed her of
the truth of her vision, ami she was in the utmost concern on
that account ; but as that was not a lit place for 1;. mentation,
she would willingly have taken the corpse away with her, to
have given it a more decent interment; hut finding herself

unable to do that, she cut off bis head, which she put into a
handkerchief, and covering the trunk again with the mould,
she gave it to her maid to carry, ami returned home without
lain;.; perceived. She then shut herself up in her chamber,

THE PO-T ©IF Bi>

NOVEL V. 223

and lamented over it till it was bathed in her tears, which being
done, she put it into a flower-pot, having folded it in a fine
napkin, and covering it with earth, she planted sweet herbs
therein, which she watered with nothing but rose or orange -
water, or else with her tears ; accustoming herself to sit always
before it, and devoting her whole heart unto it, as containing
her dear Lorenzo, The sweet herbs, what with her continual
bathing, and the moisture arising from the putrified head,
flourished exceedingly, and sent forth a most agreeable odour.
Continuing this manner of life, she was observed by some
of the neighbours, and they related her conduct to her brothers,
who had before remarked with surprise, the decay of her beauty.
Accordingly, they reprimanded her for it, and finding that
ineffectual, stole the pot from her. She, perceiving that it was
taken away, begged earnestly of them to restore it, which they
refusing, she fell sick. The young men wondered much why
she should have so great a fancy for it, and were resolved to
see what it contained : turning out the earth therefore, they
saw the napkin, and in it the head, not so much consumed, but
that, by the curled locks, they knew it to be Lorenzo's, which
threw them into the utmost astonishment, and fearing lest it
should be known, they buried it privately, and withdrew
themselves from thence to Naples. The young lady never
ceased weeping, and calling for her pot of flowers, till she died ;
and thus terminated her unfortunate love. — But in some time
afterwards, the thing became public, which gave rise to this
song :

Most cruel and unkind was he,
That of my flowers deprived me, &c.

221

THE FOURTH DAY.

NOVEL VI.

A young lady, named Andrcvuola, was in love u-ith Gabriotto ;
they relate to each other their dreams, ivhen he falls down dead
in her arms ; as she and her maid are carrying him out, they
are apprehended by the officers of justice, and she relates how
the affair happened. Afterwards, the magistrate would force
her, but she resists ; at length her father hears of it, and, as
her innocence is clear, has her set at liberty. From that period
she grows weary of the ivorld, and becomes a nun.

The ladies were all pleased with Philomena's novel, because
they had often heard the song, but were unacquainted with
the reason of its being made ; whilst the king gave the next
command to Pamphilus, who began thus : —

The dream in the preceding story puts me in mind of ano-
ther, in which mention is made of two different dreams, that
shew what was to happen, as the last did what had already
come to pass ; and which were no sooner related, but tin-
effect as suddenly followed. You must know then, that it is
a general passion in all people to see many things in their
sleep, which appear real at that time, and when we awake we
judge some of them to be so ; some to be barely probable,
and others to be utterly false ; many of which have come to
pass. For which reason we see many persons pay the Bame
regard to a dream, as they would do to any thing which they
saw whilst they were really awake ; insomuch, that they find
constant matter of joy or trouble from thence, according to
their different hopes or fears. On the contrary, there are others
who will believe nothing of that kind, until they fall into the
very danger of which they have been in that manner fore-

NOVEL VI. 225

warned. Of these, I commend neither the one nor the other ;
for as all are not true, neither are they all false : that all are
not true, we may each of us have frequently observed ; and
yet that all are not false, appears from Philomena's novel, and
will be further shewn by mine. Therefore, I am of opinion,
that in a virtuous life and a good cause you need regard no
dream, which may disagree, so as to forego any good intention.
And on the contrary, that in bad actions, although your
dreams seem to be favourable, and to promise success, yet
should you give no credit to these any more than to the others.
— But to proceed with my story. In the city of Brescia there
lived a gentleman, called Signor Negro da Ponte Carraro,
who, besides his other children, had a daugther named Andre-
vuola, a young and beautiful lady : now she had taken a fancy
to a neighbour, whose name was Gabriotto, a man of mean
extraction, but excellent qualities, as well as graceful person ;
and by her maid's assistance, she had managed so, that he
was not only made acquainted with it, but they had frequent
interviews together in her father's garden, to the mutual
satisfaction of both parties. And that nothing but death
should part their affection, they were privately married. Con-
tinuing their meetings in this manner, it happened one night
that she dreamed they were in the garden together, and as she
had him in her arms, she thought she saw something black
and frightful arise out of his body, the form of which she could
not well comprehend ; which took him by force from her, and
went with him under ground ; and from that time she could
neither see one nor the other ; this gave her infinite concern,
and glad she was, upon waking, to find it otherwise : yet she
had some dread still upon her on account of the dream. The
next night therefore, on his desiring to meet her, she endea-
voured all she could to excuse herself; but seeing him re-
solute, and fearing to disoblige him, she received him as
usual ; and after they had diverted themselves with gathering
flowers, and sat down by a fountain-side, he inquired the
reason why she would have prevented his coming that night.
She then related her dream, and the apprehensions it had
occasioned; which made him laugh, and tell her that it was a
folly to mind dreams, which proceeded, for the most part from
the stomach being either too full, or too empty, and which we
every day see to be of no significancy: "But," added he,
" had I shewed any regard to dreams, I should not have
come here, and not so much for the sake of yours, as one of
my own the last night, which was this : I thought I was hunt-
ing in a most delightful forest, and that I had taken a young
beautiful hind, as white as snow, which in a little time became
so tame, that it never left me : when I fearing to lose it,
put a collar of gold about its neck, which I held by a golden
chain in my hand ; afterwards being couched down by me,

22o FOURTH DAY.

n ith its head In nay bosom, on i sudden, a greyhound as black .1^
j. t. came rushing upon us, but from whence I could not imagine,

seeming half starved, ami nstrousl) ugly; at me 1 » «. made

his mil career, and it seemed as if he put his snout into my
bosom, on my left side, and griped me to my very heart, which
I thought he tore away from n ■• 1 gave me such

pain, that 1 instantly awoke ; when 1 Ian! my hand on mj
to feel if anything was ami ild oot help laughing

afterwards at my own weaki W bal can be

said, then, in Buch sort of cases? I have often had as bad or
dreams, and nothing ev< r happi tied to mc ? then let us
think of something rib..-." The lady was still more dismayed at
hearing this, but concealed it as much as possible, for fear of
him uneasiness; yel every now and then would she
cast h< r eye down the garden, to see if anything monstrous
apj eared. Till at length he, fetching a deep sigh, embraced
her, and said, ''Alas, my life, help me, I am just dying!"
and having said that, fell down upon the ground; which she
i\ ing, drew him into her lap, and weeping said, " My dear-
est love what is it that you feel •'" He made no answer, but
gasping vehemently, and perspiring inordinately, he soon ex-
pired. It is easy to conceive how grievous this was to the
lady, who loved him more than her own life. She called
upon him by name, over and over again, and wept for a con-
siderable time ; but seeing that he was certainly dead, and
not knowing what to do, she ran all in tears, to call her maid,
who had been entrusted with the secret, and after they bad
lamented over him for some time together, she said to her,
" Since 1 leaven has taken away my love from me, 1 mean to live
no longer myself; but before 1 put my design into exe-
cution, I would take the most effectual means to preserve my
hoi. our, by concealing the affection that has existed between
us; I desire then to have this body fust interred, svhose dear
soul is now departed." When the maid replied: "My good
, do not talk of destroying yourself ; for by doing an .1
of that kind, you will lose him also in the Oth< r world : a soul
like his must be happy, and you would send yours to endless
misery: you had better make yourself easy, and think how
you may be of service, by offering up some lew prayers in his
bihalf, if by chance he should stand in need of them, for any
sin he may have committed. — With regard to his interment,

that may easily be done in this garden, because it was never
known th at he came hither ; or, if you will not agree to that,

We will carry him out, and leave him then' ; he will he found
in the morning, and conveyed home, when his relations
will take tare to bury him." '1 he lady, though she

overwhelmed with grief, listened attentive!] to the maid's ad-
vice; and not approving of the former part of it she said,

with reeard to the latter, "Heaven forbid that 1 should ever

NOVEL VI. 227

suffer a youth so dearly beloved by me, as well as my husband,
either to be buried like a dog, or left in the street : he has
had my prayers, and shall have those of his friends and rela-
tions. 1 am now resolved what to do." And immediately
she sent the maid for a piece of rich silk she had in her cab-
inet, which being brought, she spread it upon the ground, and
they laid the body upon it, with the head on a pillow; and
closing his eyes and mouth, with abundance of tears, putting
a garland of roses on his head, and strewing them over his
body, she said to her maid : " It is not far from hence to
his house, whither we can easily carry him, as he now is, and
we will lay him before the door ; it will soon be day, and then
he will be found ; and though it will be a sad sight for his
friends, to me, in whose arms he died, it will be a satisfaction."
Having said this, she hung down her head over him, and wept
for a considerable time ; till being reminded by her servant
that day-break was at hand, she raised herself up, and ta-
king the ring from her finger, with which he had espoused her,
she put it upon his saying, " My dear lord, if thy soul has
any knowledge of my tears, or if there be any sense or under-
standing left after that is departed from the body, receive this
last gift from her who was once so dear to thee :" and at these
words she fell down in a swoon. — In some little time she came
to herself, when they took up the silk, on which the body was
laid, and went with it out of the garden, towards his house.
And, as they passed along, it happened that they were met
by some of the provost's officers, who were out upon another
affair, and who seized them as they were carrying off the
corpse. Andrevuola, coveting death at that time more
than life, said freely to them, " I know who you are, and
that it would be in vain to think of escaping ; I am ready
then to go before the magistrates, and to relate all I know
concerning this matter : but let none of you dare to touch me,
because I offer no resistance ; nor touch anything belong-
ing to this body, under pain of being accused himself." Ac-
cordingly it was carried untouched to the provost's hall, and
when notice of it was given to him, he arose, and she being
brought before him, he began to question her how, and by
what means, this thing had happened. Physicians also were
sent for to give their ©pinions, whether it was done by poison,
or any such way ; who all declared the contrary, affirming
that some vein near the heart was broken, which had suf-
focated him. The provost hearing this, and perceiving her in-
nocence, seemed to make a matter of favour of it, and told
her he would set her at liberty, upon condition that she would
yield herself to his pleasure ; which she refusing, he was base
enough to try force. But she fired with a noble disdain de-
fended herself with great courage and resolution. It being
now broad day, and the news being carried to Signer Negro,

228 FOURTH DAY.

he went full of grief, to the hall, attended by many of his
friends, when being informed of his daughter's innocence,
he demanded her from the provost; who, choosing rather
to mention himself what had happened, than to have her ac-
cuse him, began with great commendation of her constancy
and virtue, owning his design towards her; and offering to
marry her, notwithstanding the meanness of her former
marriage, if it was agreeable to her lather and herself. And
whilst he was speaking, she entered, and falling down on
her knees before him said, " .My dear father, 1 suppose I need
not tell you either of my boldness or my misfortune, as you
must certainly have heard, and know both : therefore I
most humbly beg your forgiveness for having married with-
out your knowledge, the person ivhoin 1 most loved; and
this 1 do with no view to a pardon, but that I may die as your
daughter, and not as an enemy." Signor Negro was advanced
in years, and being one of a courteous and gentle disposition,
could not refrain from tears at these words, and raising her
tenderly from the ground, he said, " Daughter, 1 should
have been more glad if you had taken such a husband as I
had approved of; yet if you married to please yourself, this
ought to please me. But to conceal it entirely, gives me con-
cern for the little confidence you repose in me ; especially
as he is dead before I knew anything of the matter : but since
it is so, the respect, for your sake, that I would have shewed
him as my son-in-law, whilst he was living, I mean to ex-
press now he is dead." Then, turning to his children and
friends, he ordered them to get every thing in readiness for
a solemn and magniricient funeral. By this time Gabriotto's
friend, ami relations had assembled, as well as great crouds
from all parts of the city ; and the corpse being set in the
middle of the court, in the manner she had before adorned
it, great lamentation was made over it, by all the rel
and others present ; and from thence it was carried to the
grave, not like an ordinary citizen, but as of a person of quality,
upon the shoulders of some of the most eminent citizens,
with the utmost honour and respect A few days afterwards,
the provost renewed his request, and Sign com-

mended it to his daughter, who would hear nothing of it:
and lie, willing to make her easy, sent both her ami her maid
into a monastery of great devotion; where after a long course
of time, the) ended their lives.

TELE FATAL BE I

229

THE FODBTH MY.

NOVEL VII.

Pasquino is in love with Simona ; and being in a garden together
he happens to rub his teeth with a leaf of sage, and immediate
ly dies. She is brought before the judge, when being desirous
of shewing him the cause of Pasquino* s death, she rubs her teeth
with the same herb, and meets with a similar fate.

Pamphilus bad gone through his novel, when the king, seem-
ing to be under no concern for Andrevuola, turned to Emilia,
and desired her to begin; which she did accordingly in this
manner : —

Pamphilus's story puts me in mind of another, which is
only like it in this respect, that as Andrevuola lost her lover
in a garden, so she of whom I am going to speak, was taken
up in the same manner, as Andrevuola was, and delivered
from the hands of justice, neither by force nor virtue but by
unexpected death. And though we have said before, that
love makes his habitation in the houses of great people,
yet does he not disown all influence over the poorer sort.
On the contrary, all powerful as he is, he shews his power over
them, as well as over the rich ; as will appear in a great mea-
sure from my novel; which brings me back again to. our city,
from which we had so far strayed to talk of other subjects,
that have happened in different parts of the world. There
lived not long since at Florence, a young woman, agreeable
enough, according to her rank, but descended of mean parents,
whose name was Simona ; and though she earned her bread
by spinning, yet she was not beneath the passion of love,
with which sho was inspired by the pleasing conversation and
behaviour of a young man of the same condition as herself, who
x

230 FOURTH DAY.

used to bring her woo] to spin for his master, a clothier.
Prom this youth, whose name was Pasquino, she received the
amorous flame, ever wishing, but not expecting any thing far-
ther; whilst still, as her wheel went round, she sent forth a
thousand sighs, calling him then to mind who had brought bei
wool. He, on the other part being desirous that his mas-
ter's work should be well done, as if Simona'8 spinning was to
make up the whole piece, used to call often er upon her than
upon any one else; whence the one continually soliciting, and
the other desiring to he solicited, it happened, that the first
began to assume more courage than he used to have, and
the second lost a ^ood deal of her fear ami hashfulncss, so that
they seemed at last to have come to a tolerable understanding
This good liking of theirs continuing for some time, ami every
day increasing, he happened to say to her one day, that he
desired of all things to meet her in a certain garden, where they
might talk together with more freedom and less suspicion. Sin?
assured him that she was willing; and telling her father,
one Sunday after dinner, that she was going for an indulgence
to St. Gailo, she went along with a companion of hers called
Lagina, to the place appointed. There she found him with
a friend of his, named Puccino, though more usually called
Stramba ; when Stramba and Lagina soon became acquainted,
and drew to one end of the garden ; whilst Pasquino and Si-
m. ma were at the other. In that part where this couple was,
grew a large bush of sage, where they seated themselves, and
having talked about a feast, which they intended to have some
holiday in the garden, he plucked a leaf of the sage, and began
to rub his teeth and gums with it, saying, that nothing cleaned
the teeth better after eating than sage; and when he had
done he returned to his former subject of the feast, when im-
mediately he began to change countenance, his sight and
speech both failed him, and he suddenly expired. When
Simona saw this, she began to lament, and called for help to
the other two, who instantly came thither, and seeing him not
only swelled, hut full of black spots, Stramba immediately
cried out, " Oh ! thou vile woman ! thou hast poisoned him."
And he made such an uproar that he was heard by many of the
neighbours, who flocked thither, and finding the man dead
and swelled, and hearing Stramba lament and accuse Simona
of his death, whilst grief for the loss of her lover, and astonish-
ment together, had so confounded her, that she scarcely made
any defence, they supposed it was as he said. Upon which the
poor creature was carried before a magistrate ; when Stramba,
and two other friends of Pasquino, being her accusers,
the judge, took immediate cognizance of it, ami not I
able to .see any malicious intent in Simona, or that she was
in the least guilty, he wished to view the dead body, BS will

as tin.' place and manner of it, because there were some thii ^

NOVEL VII. 231

which he could not well understand from her account. Com-
ing then, without any great bustle to the garden, where Pas-
quino's body lay pufi'ed up like a tun, the judge was sur-
prised, and inquirng how it happened, Simona went to the
bush of sage, and having related the whole affair, that he mio-ht
have a perfect account, rubbed her teeth with a leaf, as Pas-
quino had done. Stramba and the rest looked upon this as a
frivolous and vain pretence, and called out violently to the
judge to have her burnt for her wickedness ; whilst she, (miser-
able wretch !) grieved for the loss of her lover, and terrified
to death with their threats, having rubbed her teeth with th«
same sage that he had used, dropped down dead in a similar
manner to the wonder of them all.

Happy souls! to end both their loves and their lives on the
same day. More happy still, if they went together to the
same place. Happiest, if they love one another as much in
the other world as here. But happiest of all, at least, in our
judgment, is the soul of Simona, whose innocence fortune
would not leave at the mercy of such witnesses, and therefore
found a way, by her dying the same death with her lover,
for her to escape their slander and to follow the soul of her
beloved Pasquino.

The judge was as one in amaze at this accident, as well as
the rest of the company ; and upon recollecting himself at last,
he said, this sage is plainly venomous ; therefore, that no-
body else may suffer by it, let it be cut up by the roots and
burnt, which was done by the gardener in his presence, when
the cause of the lovers' deaths plainly appeared. Under it
was a monstrous overgrown toad, with whose breath it was
jugded to be infected. And none being hardy enough to go
near it, they made a circle of stubble round it, and burnt it
along with the sage, so ended the^ process, upon the death of
poor Pasquino, whose , body, as well as that of Simona, was
interred by Stramba and the rest of the people present, in St.
Paul's church, to which parish they were said to belong.

232

THE FOURTH DAY

NOVEL VIII

Girolamo is in love with Salvestra, and is obliged by his mother
to go to Paris. On his return he finds her married ; and
getting privately into her house, lie breathes ids last by her
side. Being carried from thence to a church to be buried, she
dies likewise upon his corpse.

Emilia's novel was concluded, when by the king's order Nei-
phile began as follows : —

There are some people, most worthy ladies, who think they
know more than other folks, and yet know less ; and upon
this presumption not only oppose their opinions to the general
sense of mankind, but even to the very nature of things, from
whence proceed frequently great inconveniences, and never
any good. Amongst natural causes, that which the least
brooks any advice or opposition is love, the nature of which is
such, as more easily to wear away of itself, than to be removed
by <■ 1 1 1 y admonition ; for which reason I intend to relate a story
of a lady, who willing to appear wiser than she really was,
or than the thing, in which she would have shewed her
good understanding required ; by endeavouring to drive away
that passion from a heart, in which it was firmly implanted,
deprived her son both of life and love at the same time. —
In our city, as ii is reported, there lived a great and wealthy
merchant, whose name was Lionardo Sighieri, who by his
wife had an only son called Girolamo. He died presently
after his son was born, and the infant's guardians along with
his mother took all possi >le care both of him and his affairs.
As be grew up, amongst the other children of the neighbour-
hood, he used to play with a tailor's daughter much about

NOVEL VIII. 233

the same age ; in time that acquaintance changed into love,
which became so vehement, that he was never easy unless
he was in her company, and her respect and good liking were
the same for him. His mother observed it, and would fre-
quently correct him for it ; and finding that ineffectual, com-
plained to his guardians ; and thinking, on account of his
riches, that she might work impossibilities, she said to them,
" This boy of mine, who is but fourteen years old, has taken
such a fancy to a tailor's daughter, that unless we remove him
he will marry her privately some time or another, which will
be death to me ; or else he will pine and consume himself
away, if he sees her married to another person ; for which
reason I think it best to send him a distance off to some of
our factors, in order by his absence to put her out of his thoughts,
and afterwards we may provide a more suitable wife for him."
They agreed with her that it would be right to do so, and pro-
mised her all the service that lay in their power. Calling him
into the counting-house, one of them spoke kindly to him in
this manner; "Young gentleman, as you are now of consi-
derable years, it is fit that you should begin to look after your
own affairs ; for which reason we hold it proper, that you go
and reside some time at Paris, where you will see how a great
part of your trade is carried on ; besides you will have greater
opportunities there of improving yourself, than you can have
here, and after you have conversed with persons of quality
and distinction, oi which there are a great number at Paris,
and learned their breeding and elegant accomplishments, it
will then be time for you to return." He listened very atten-
tively, and replied in a few words, that he would not consent,
because he thought it full as well to stay at Florence. They
reproved him a little for it ; but finding they could get no other
answer, they acquainted his mother. She was in a violent
passion and gave him hard words, not on account of his re-
fusing to go, but for his love affairs, which availing nothing,
she began to use gentler means, entreating hirn in the mild-
est terms that he would oblige his guardians ; and she pre-
vailed so far, that he consented to go and stay one year there,
and no more, and accordingly he went. Being sent thus to
Paris, over head and ears in love, his return was put oft
from one day to another, till he was kept there at last two years,
when coming home, more enamoured than ever, he found that
his mistress was married to a young man, a tent-maker, which
gave him infinite concern. But seeing that the thing could
not be remedied, he endeavoured to bear it patiently ; and find-
ing out the place where she lived, he began as is usual with
young lovers, to walk frequently by the house supposing that
she could no more have forgotten him than he had forgotten
her : but the case was otherwise : she remembered him no more
than if she had never seen him, at least it seemed so by her
x 2

234 FOURTH DAY.

behaviour, which gave him great trouble ; yet notwithstanding,
he Cried all means to make her call him to mind ; but find-
ing it in vain, he resolved to speak to her though it cost him
bis life. And having informed himself, by a neighbour,
concerning the state of the house, he got into it privately one
night, when they were gone to spend the evening with some
friends, and hid himself in (heir chamber behind some sail-
cloths, where lie waited till they returned, and were in bed ; and
when he thought the husband fast asleep, he went softly
to her side, and laying his hand upon her breast, said gen-
tly to her, " My dear life, are you asleep .'" She happening to
be awake was going to cry out, when he immediately added,
" For God's sake make no noise ; I am your old lover Giro-
lama." She hearing this, replied .all in a tremble, "Dear
sir, go about your business; the time when wj might love
one another is past ; you see I am married, and therefore am
only to regard my husband ; I entreat you then to depart,
for if he should know of it, supposing nothing worse to nap-
pen, I should be miserable as long as I lived, and our lives hi-
therto have been very comfortable together." The youth was
extremely troubled at these words, and though he put her in
mind of past times, and used many arguments and fair pro-
mises to persuade her, yet it was all in vain. At last he de-
sired that, as a recompence for all his love, she would only let
him lie by her side till he had warmed himself a little, for
that he was quite starved with waiting for her, promising
neither to speak nor touch her, and when he grew warmer to
go away. She, having some compassion left for him, gave
leave upon those conditions. He then lay down by her, and
calling to mind his long passion, and her inflexible cruelty,
as one destitute of all hope, resolved to die ; and holding
strongly his breath, he clenched his hands, and expired by
her side. In some little time, she being surprised at his lying
so still, and fearing lest her husband should awake, began to say
to him. " Alas! Sir, why do not you go away i" And perceiv-
ing that he made no answer, she supposed he was asleep, and
putting her hand out to jog him, found him quite cold ; greatly
amazed at this, and shaking him more strongly, she perceived
he was certainly dead. Affected beyond measure, she lay a
considerable time, not knowing what course to take. At
length, she resolved to sound her husband, by making it
another person's case ; waking him therefore, she proposed
it to him, as having happened to somebody else, and then asked
him what he would do in such an affair. The honest
man replied, that he would have him carried privately home,
without the least resentment to the woman, because she seem-
ed to be no way in fault. "Then," said she, "we must do
so now :" and taking hold of his hand, laid it upon the dead
body; upou which he arose in a great fright, and lighting a

NOVEL VIII. 235

candle, immediately took the corpse upon his shoulders, hav-
ing first put all its clothes upon it, and relying upon his inno-
cence, carried it to the mother's door, and left it there. Being
found in the morning, there was a great uproar ahout it, and
the body was examined all over, and no wound or bruise ap-
pearing, the physicians declared, that he died for grief, and
such was really the case. The corpse was then carried to the
church, attended by the sorrowful mother, and other friends
and relations to lament over it, according to the custom of
our city ; and whilst this was doing, the honest man in whose
house he died, said to the wife, " Go, veil yourself, and haste
to the church, and hear among the women what they say about
it, and I will do the same amongst the men, by which means
we shall know whether they have any suspicion of us." The
woman, who had some pity for him when it was too late, grew
desirous of seeing him dead, to whom, whilst living, she would
not vouchsafe the favour of one kiss, and went directly thither.
Most wonderful it is to conceive, with what difficulty is traced
out the powerful workings of love ! That heart which was
proof against the prosperous fortune of Girolamo, was
now pierced by his adversity ; and the old flames of love,
which were revived, had such an effect upon her, that veiled
as she was, she still pressed forwards to the corpse; when
she made a most terrible shriek, and falling down with her
face upon it, she shed but a few tears ; for the very instant al-
most that she touched it, grief deprived her of life, as it did
Girolamo. In some little time the women began to comfort
her, not knowing who she was, and to desire her to rise ; but
perceiving that she did not stir, they lifted her up, when
they knew her to be Salvestra, and beheld that she was dead.
Upon which the women, overcome as it were by a double com-
passion, set up a greater lamentation than before. The news
being carried through the church, soon came to the ears of her
husband, at which he was deeply concerned, and having related
to some that stood by the whole affair of the proceeding night ;
the cause of both their deaths plainly appeared, and they were
generally lamented. They then took the dead lady, and laid
her by his side upon the same bier, and they were buried with
the greatest lamentations in the same grave ; so this pair, which
love could not join together in their life-time, did death unite
by an inseparable conjunction.

THE FOCRTH DAI

NOVEL IX.

Gulielmo Rossiglione gives hia wife to eat the heart of Oulielmo
Guar das tagno, her gallant, whom he had slain ; as soon as the
knew this, she threw herself out of a window, and, dy'niiS, wan
buried along with him.

I here being an end of Neiphile's novel, not without the great-
est compassion expressed by the whole company, the king,
who meant not to infringe upon Dioneus's privilege, as there
was nobody else left to speak, began thus : —

I now call to mind a story, which, as you are upon sorrowful
subjects, will move you no less than the last, as the persons
concerned were of greater figure, and the event more cruel.
You must know then, that in Provence were two noble knights,
who had each of them castles of their own, and vassals under
their subjection ; one of whom was called Gulielmo Rossig-
lione, and the other, Gulielmo Guardastagno ; and, being both
persons of great prowess, they took vast delight in military
exploits, and used to go together to all tilts and tournaments,
and appeared always in the same colors. And though they
lived ten miles asunder, yet it happened, that Rossiglione hav-
ing a very beautiful wife, the other, notwithstanding the
friendship that existed, between them, became violently in
love, and by one means or other he soon let her know it; which,
he being a valiant knight, was not at all displeasing to her;
and she began to entertain the same respect for him, so that
she wished for nothing SO much as that he should speak to
her upon that subject, which in some little time came to pass,
and they were together more than once. Being not so discreel
as they ought to have been, the husband soon perceived it, and

NOVEL IX. 237

he resented it to that degree, that the extreme love which had
heen between them, was turned into the most inveterate ha-
tred; but he was more private with it, than they had the pru-
dence to be with their amour, and was fully bent upon put-
ting him to death.

Continuing in this resolution, it fell out, that a public
tilting match was proclaimed in France, which Rossiglione
immediately signified to Guardastagno, and sent to desire his
company at bis castle, when they would resolve together about
going, and in what manner : Guardastagno was extremely plea-
sed with the message, and sent word back that he would sup
with him the next night without fail. Rossiglione hear-
ing this, thought it a fit opportunity to effect his design,
and arming himself the next day, with some of his servants
he went on horseback into a wood about a mile from his cas-
tle through which Guardastagno was to pass, where he lay in
wait for him ; after a long stay he beheld him unarmed with
two servants unarmed likewise, as not apprehending any
danger; and when he saw him in a fit place for his purpose,
he ran with his lance at him with the utmost malice and fury,
saying, " Villian thou art a dead man ! and the very instant
he spoke the word, the lance passed from behind through his
breast, and he fell down dead, without uttering a word.

The servants, not knowing who had done this, turned their
horses, and fled with all possible haste to their lord's castle.
Rossiglione now dismounted from his horse, and with a
knife cut Guardastagno' s breast open, and took out his heart;
and wrapping it in the streamer belonging to his lance, gave
it to one of his servants to carry, and commanding them not
to dare to speak of it, he mounted his horse, and it being now
night, returned to his castle. The lady, who had heard of
Guarclastagno's supping there that night, and longed much to
see him, perceiving him not to come, was a good deal sur-
prised, and said to her husband, " Pray, what is the reason that
Guardastagno is not here ?" He replied, "I have just received
a message from him that he cannot be with us till to-morrow;"
at which she seemed very uneasy. As soon as he alighted
from his horse, he sent for the cook, and said to him, "Here,
take this boar's heart, and be sure you make it as delicious
as possible, and send it up to the table in a silver dish. Ac-
cordingly he took and minced it very small, tossing it up with
rich spices, and making it a sort of high-seasoned forced meat.

When supper-time came, they sat down, and the dishes
were served up ; but he could not eat much for thinking of
what he had done. At last the cook sent up the forced meat
which he set before his lady, pretending himself to be out of
order, but commending it to her as a nice dish ; she, who was
not at all squeamish, began to taste, and liked it so well, that
she eat it all up. When he saw that she had made an end, he

238 FOURTH DAY.

s -lid, " Madam, how do you like it .'" She replied, " In pood truth
sir, I like it much." " As God shall help me," quoth the knight,
*' I believe you; nor do I wonder that it pleases you so
much now it is dead, which when living, pleased you above
all things." She mule a pause at this, and then said, " Why,
what is it that you have given me ?" lie replied, " It is really
the heart of Guardastagno, whom you, base woman, loved so
well : be assured it is the same, for these very hands took it
out of his breast, a little time before I returned home." The
lady, hearing this of him whom she loved above all the world,
you may easily imagine what her anguish must be: and at
last she replied, " You have acted like a base villain as you
are ; for if I granted him a favour of my own accord, and you
was injured thereby, it was I, and not he, that ought to have
been punished. But let it never be said that any other food
ever came after such a noble repast as was the heart of so
valiant and worthy a knight." Then rising up, she instantly
threw herself out of the window. It was a great height
from the ground, and she was in a manner dashed to pieces.
He seeing this, was a good deal confounded ; and being con-
scious of having done a base action, fearing also the country's
resentment, he had his horses saddled, and fled directly away.
The next morning the whole story was known all round the
country, when the two bodies were taken and buried together
in one grave in the church which had belonged to the lady,
with the utmost lamentation ; and verses were written over
them, signifying who they were, as well as the manner and
cause of their deaths.

239

THE FOURTH DAY.

NOVEL X.

A doctor's wife puts her gallant into a chest, imagining him to be
dead ; which chest is stolen by two usurers, and carried home.
He comes to himself, and is taken for a thief ; whilst the lady's
maid informs the magistrates that she had put him into a chest,
which the usurers had carried away ; upon which he escapes,
and they are fined a sum of money.

Dioneus was the only person now left to speak, who accord-
ingly began, by the king's order, as follows : —

The miseries of unfortunate lovers, which have been re-
lated by you, have so affected both my eyes and my heart, that
I have long wished for their coming to an end. We may now
be thankful that they are concluded, unless I should add one
to their number, which is no part of my design ; I mean there-
fore to shift the prospect, and to present you with a little
mirth after all this sorrow, and which may serve as a good ar-
gument for to-morrow's discourse.

You must understand then, that not long since lived at
Salerno a famous doctor in surgery, called master Mazzeo della
Montagna, who in his old age had married a young and beauti-
ful wife, of the Sr me city. There being such a disproportion
in their years, he spared no cost of clothes and jewels, and gra-
tified her in every thing of that kind she could wish for ; so
that she appeared far beyond any other lady in the city. But she
was not to be so satisfied ; and looking out amongst the young-
gentlemen abroad, she at last fixed upon one, on whom she set-
tled her entire hope and affection ; and he being made sensible
of it, shewed the same regard for her. He was named Ruggieri
da Jeroli and of a noble family, but had been always of a ra-

240 FOURTH DAY.

kisli disposition, on which account he had disobliged rill his
friends so far, that none of them would Bee him, and he was now
branded all over Salerno for everything thatwas vile and wic-
ked. This had do weight with her, and by her maid's assist-
ance they were brought together, when she reproved him for
his past conduct, anil desired that for her sake he would leave
off those wicked courses; and to take away all temptation,
supplied liiiu from time to time with money. The affair
being carried on in iliis manner between them with a good
deal of caution, it happened that the doctor had a patient in the
mean time, who had a had leg; this, he told the person's
friends, was owing to a decayed bone, winch he was obli-
ged to take out to make a cure; otherwise he must either
lose his leg or his life; but yet he* looked upon it as a very
doubtful case. They therefore bid him do as he thought
most proper.

Now the doctor, supposing that the patient would never he
able to endure the pain without an opiate, deferred the
operation till the evening ; and in the mean time, ordered a
water to be distilled from a certain composition, which, being
drunk, would throw a person asleep as long as he judged it
necessary in this particular case, and which being brought
him home, he set it in his chamber window, without saying
what it was. Now when the evening came, on which he was
to perform this operation, a messenger arrived from some very
considerable persons at Malfi, who were his friends, charging
him to come away instantly, for that there had been a great
fray among them, in which many people were wounded. The
doctor then put off the operation of the man's leg till morning,
and went in a boat directly to Malt: : whilst the lady knowing
that he would be out all night, had her gallant brought pri-
vately into her chamber, where she locked him in, till certain
persons of her family were gone to bed.

Ruggieri, waiting thus in tire chamber, expecting his mis-
tress, and being extremely thirsty, whether from some fatigue,
or salt meat that he had eaten, or rather from a bad habit which
he had of drinking, happened to cast Ids eye upon the bot-
tle of water, which the doctor had ordered for his patient, and
imagining it was something pleasant to drink, took it all < ffat a
draught; when, in a little time, he fell into a profound
'Jin- lady made what haste she could to her chamber, and
finding him last asleep began, with a low voice, to try to wake
him, but he making no reply, nor even stirring, she was
much disturbed, and shook him roughly, saying, "(letup,
sluggard! If thou art disposed to sleep, thou shouldst have
stayed at home, and not come to sleep here."

ile being pushed in that manner, fell down from a chest,
on which he was sitting, upon the ground, and shewed no
more sense or feeling than if he hud been really dead. She

NOVEL X. 241

was now under greater concern, and began to pull him by
the nose, as well as twinge him by the beard, but it was all of
no service, the enchantment was too strong. On this she really
suspected him to be dead, and pinched and burnt his flesh
with the candle, till finding all to no purpose, and being no
doctress, although her husband was a doctor, she took it for
granted he was so.

You may easily suppose what her grief now must be, as she
loved him beyond all the world ; and not daring to make any
noise, she for some time continued silently deploring her cala-
mity: till fearing at last lest dishonour should follow, she
thought some means must be contrived to convey him out of
the house ; not knowing how to order it herself, she called her
maid, and advised with her about it. The girl was under
great surprise, and trying all means to rouse him to no pur-
pose, agreed with her mistress that he was certainly dead,
and that it was best to get him away. The lady then said, —
" But where can we carry him, that it may never be suspected
to-morrow, when he shall be found that he was brought from
hence?" — "Madam, she replied, " I saw late this evening,
before a joiner's shop in our neighbourhood, a good large chest,
if it be not taken into the house again, we may put him in
there well enough, giving him two or three slashes with a pen-
knife ; whoever finds him will scarcely imagine that we should
put him there rather than any where else ; on the contrary, it will
rather be supposed that he has been upon some bad exploit, be-
cause he has a general ill character, and that he was killed by his
adversary, and so shut up in the chest." She approved of her
maid's advice in every thing save the wounding him, saying,
that for all the world she would never consent to that. Accord-
ingly she sent the maid to see if the chest was still there, who
brought her word back that it was. And being stout and lusty,
she took him on her shoulders, whilst the lady went first to see
that nobody was in the way, and coming to the chest, they
threw him in, and shutting the lid, left him there. The same
day two young men, who let out money upon interest, chanced to
take a house a little farther on in the same street, who willing
to gain much, and spend but little ; and having need of house-
hold goods, had taken notice of that chest the day before, and
were resolved, if it should be left there all night, to steal it
away. At midnight then, they went and carried it off, with-
out examining at all into it, though it seemed to be very heavy,
and set it in a chamber where their wives lay, and then went
to bed. Now Ruggieri by this time, had gotten the greater
part of his sleep over ; and his draught being pretty well di-
gested, and its virtue at an end, he awoke before morning ;
and though his senses were in some measure returned to him,
yet was there a kind of stupefaction remaining, which con-
tinued, not that night only, but for several days ; yet he opened

Y

242 FOURTH DAY.

his eyes, and seeing nothing, threw his hands about him,
when he perceived himself shut up ; he was consequently in
the utmost amaze, and said to himself—" What is the mean-
ing of this? Where am I ? Am I asleep or awake? 1 remem-
ber last night to have been io my mistress's chamber, and now
methinks I am in a chest. What can it be ! Sure the doctor
is returned, or some other accident has happened ; and she,
finding me asleep, put me in here: it can be nothing else."
Upon that consideration he lay still, and began to listen if he
could hear any thing stir; and having lain for some time in
an uneasy posture, as the chest was strait, and that side being
sore that he had pressed so long upon, he was willing to turn
upon the other ; when, thrusting his back against one side of
the chest, which stood upon an unequal place, he overset it,
and down it came to the floor, with such a noise, that the wo-
men were awakened, and frightened out of their wits. Rug-
gieri upon this knew not what to think, but finding the chest
open with the fall, he thought it better to get out if he could, than
to stay within doors; therefore he went groping up and down
in the dark, to find some door or place to make his escape at.
They hearing this, cried out, " Who is there ?" But he not know-
ing their voices, made no answer. Upon this they began to
call their husbands, but they were so fast asleep ; having been
awake the greatest part of the night, that they had heard nothing
of the matter. They were then more terrified than before,
and went to the window, calling out, " Thieves ! thieves !" This
brought many of the neighbours together, who forced their way
into the house, and the husbands also were raised with this cla-
mour and seized upon poor Ruggieri, who was out of his wits
almost with surprise to find himself there, where he saw no
possibility of making his escape. And by this time the city of-
ficers were drawn thither, by reason of the tumult, into whose
hinds he was delivered, and had by them before the provost;
when he was immediately put to the rack, as he was one of
a bad character; and he confessed that he had gotten into the
house with intent to rob them ; whereupon the provost sentenced
him to be hanged out of hand. That morning the news was
carried all over Salerno, that Ruggieri was taken breaking
into the usurers' house; which the lady and her maid
hearing, were so astonished, that they could scarcely be-
lieve what had happened the preceding night was real ; whilst
the lady was in such concern for her lover, that she was almost
distracted. Some few hours after the doctor returned from
Malfi, when lie inquired for his narcotic water, because he was
then going upon his operation; and finding the bottle empty,
lie made a terrible mutiny, telling them that nothing in
Ins house could stand untouched for them. The lady, who had
something else lay nearer her heart, replied with some warmth,

NOVEL X. 243

" What would you say in any thing of consequence, when you
make such a stir about a little water ?" The doctor then said,
" Lady, you should consider this is no common water, it is
water distilled to cause sleep." And he further told her upon
what account it was made. When she heard this, she conclu-
ded that Ruggieri had drank it off, and that they supposed
him therefore to be dead ; and she added, " Sir we knew nothing
of your intention, but if you please you can make more:"
and he perceiving that there was no other remedy, did so.
Soon afterwards the maid returned, whom she had sent to
learn news of her lover: and she said, "Madam, there is
nobody that speaks well of Ruggieri, whether relation or other-
wise, or intends to give him any assistance ; but all people agree
that he will be hanged to-morrow : one thing, however, 1 have
learnt, which is new; that is, how he came into those usu-
rers' house, which I will tell you. You know the joiner at
whose door the chest stood, wherein we had put him ; he has
just had a warm dispute with another person, who it seems,
owned the chest, and who insisted that the joiner should
pay for it : however, he replied that he had not sold it, but that it
was stole away from him. The other answered, ' It is a story, you
sold it to two usurers, as they themselves told me this morn-
ing, when I saw it in their house at the time Ruggieri was ta-
ken.' 'They are liars,' quoth the joiner, ' I never sold it
them ; but they stole it from me last night ; let us go to them
therefore.' So away they went together, whilst I returned
hither ; from hence it is easy to see that Ruggieri was car-
ried in that manner to the place where he was taken ; but
how he came to himself afterwards is beyond my comprehen-
sion." The lady now plainly saw how the case was, and told
her maid what she had learnt from the doctor, begging that she
wrould lend her assistance in promoting her lover's escape :
for it was in her powTer at once to save his life and her honour.
The maid answered, " Madam, tell me only which way, and I
will do it with all my heart." The lady, as it was a thing
that so nearly touched her, had all her wits about her, and
gave the maid full instructions what she wished her to do : ac-
cordingly she went to the doctor, and began to weep, saying,
" Sir, I am come to ask your pardon for a great crime which I
have committed towards you." The doctor asked what crime
it was. She, continuing to weep, replied, " You know what
sort of a person Ruggieri da Jeroli is, who has been my sweet-
heart for this twelvemonth past, notwithstanding all his imper-
fections ; and who, knowing last night that you were abroad,
wheedled me so far, that I brought him into your house, and
took him up into my chamber to be all night with me ; when,
being thirsty, and I not knowing how to get him either any
water or wine, without my mistress seeing it, who was then in
the hall, I suddenly recollected to have seen a bottle of water

244 FOURTH DAY.

in your chamber, which I fetched, and gave him to drink, and
set the bottle again where I found it ; and I since understand
that you have been in a great passion about it : I confess I did
very ill ; but who is there that sometime or other doth not
act amiss 2 lam extremely concerned for it ; not so much
upon account of the thing itself, as what .has ensued ; for it
hath brought him in danger of his life. Therefore 1
earnestly beg vour forgiveness, and that you would give me
leave to go and assist him to the utmost of my power.

Tbe doctor, hearing this story, answered merrily, notwith-
standing his former passion, " You have reason enough to
be sorry upon your own account, for instead of having a young
brisk fellow, you bad nothing but a Bluggard, You may
go then and save the man, if you can, but take care you do
so no more ; for if you do, I shall then pay you for all toge-
ther." Having this answer, she thought she had made a
good beginning ; therefore she hastened to the prison and per-
suaded the gaoler to let her speak to Ruggieri ; when having
informed him what answers he was to make to the magis-
trate if he meant to escape, she went from thence to the
judge, to whom she got introduced, and said to him, " Sir,
you have had Ruggieri da Jeroli before you, who was ta-
ken up for a thief; but the case is quite otherwise ;" and
here she related her whole story : how she bad brought him
into the doctor's house, how she had given him that narcotic
water to drink, without knowing it, and how he was put into
tbe chest for dead : she afterwards told him what had passed
between the joiner and the owner of the chest, making it ap-
pear how he came into the usurers' house.

The judge saw that it would be an easy thing to come at the
truth of this matter ; therefore, he first inquired ot the doc-
tor whether the story was true concerning the water, and
found it exactly so: he then sent for the joiner and owner of
the chest, as also the usurers ; and after much examination
it appeared, that they had stolen the chest the foregoing night,
and carried it home. Last of all he had Ruggieri brought be-
fore him, when lie being asked where bo bad lodged that
night, he replied, that he could not tell where he actually
did lie; but said his intention was to have lain with the doc-
tor's maid, in whose chamber lie had drunk some water to quench
his most violent thirst ; but what became of him, from that time,
to the time of his awaking, and finding himself in the
chest in the usurers' house, that he could give no account of.
The judge was mightily pleased with their accounts, and made
them repeat their several stories over and over. At length
perceiving Ruggieri to lie innocent, he set him a: liberty, and
Bentenced the usurers to pay a tine of ten crowns. It is easy
to. imagine what Ruggieri 's joy now was, as well as the lady's,
who made themselves very merry together afterwards along

FOURTH DAY. 245

with the maid, for the slashes with her penknife, which she
meant to have given him ; still going on in the same mirth and
pleasure from good to better : which I wish may happen always
to myself, but never to be put into a chest. —

If the former novels had occasioned great grief and sorrow
to the ladies, this last of Dioneus's made ample amends.
But the king now perceiving that the sun was about to set,
and that his sovereignty was therefore at an end, began
to excuse himself for giving such a cruel subject to expa-
tiate upon, as the unhappiness of lovers : then rising up, he
took the crown from his head, and whilst they were waiting to
see to whom he would resign it, he put it upon Flammetta,
saying," 1 make choice of you as one who knows better than
any other person to comfort us, for what we have heard to-
day, with to-morrow's mirth." Flammetta, whose locks hung
in long graceful ringlets over her white and delicate shoul-
ders, her face round and beautiful, with white and red,
like lilies and roses blended together ; her eyes like those of
a falcon's, with a little mouth whose lips were like rubies : she
I say, said with a smile, " Philostratus, I willingly accept
it ; and to the end that you may the better recollect yourself
concerning what you have done hitherto, I will and command,
that every one be prepared to treat to-morrow upon what has
happened happily to lovers, after certain cruel and unlucky
accidents;" which proposal was agreeable to them all. Calling
then the steward, and concerting with him what wTas most
needful to be done, she gave him leave to depart till supper.
Some therefore wralked into the garden, the beauty of which
was such, that they were never weary of it : others went to see
the mill ; and some went to one place and some to another, ac-
cording to their different inclinations ; till that time being
come, they all met together, as usual, by the fountain-side,
wdiere they supped with great elegance and satisfaction to
themselves. When that was over, they began to dance and
sing : and as Philomena was leading up the dance, the queen
said, " Philostratus, I do not intend to deviate from my pre-
decessors, but as they have done hitherto, so intend I to order
a song : and as I am very sure that yours are like your no-
vels, therefore, that no more of our days be disturbed with
your misfortunes, I desire you would give us one of those
which pleases you most. Philostratus replied, " with all my
heart;" and he immediately began the following song.
y2

216 FOURTH DAY.

SONG.

Sure none can more your pity move,
Than 1, who am betray' d in love.

I.

"When my poor wounded hear ,
For her of whom I now complain,

First felt the am'rous smart
The greatest pain

As nought I deem'd:
For she, since most unkind

Then all perfection seem'd :
But, ah ! too late my error now 1 find.

Sure', Sfc.

II.

For why? I see myself deceiv'd
By her my only hope and joy ;

And" when too fondly I believ'd,
None so secure so blessed as I ;

All past engagements laid aside,

To soothe a happier rival's pride.

Sure, &c.

Ill,

Since my disgrace,
I mourn and curse the day,

When her too beauteous face
First stole my ravish'd heart away;

Whilst my too easy faith and love

An endless source of sorrow prove.

Sure, &c.

IV.

So great the grief,
Which has my mind poss.cst !

That vain is all relief,
And only death can give me rest;
lis that shall all my sorrows close,

\> ith a secure and long repose.

Sure, 8rc

NOVEL 247

V.

No other means remain

To ease my pain ;
But, oh ! when clos'd shall be these eyes,

Within her breast,
Let ne'er one anxious thought arise,

Be she for ever blest !

Sure, &c

VI.

Yet ere I go,
Kind Cupid, whisper in her ear,
That 'tis for her,

I all these torments know :
Perhaps she may repent her usage past,
And grant my love a kind return at last.

Sure none can more your pity move,
Than I, who am betray'd in love.

Philostratus's sentiments, and the grounds of them, were
plainly set forth in this song, and perhaps the lady's coun-
tenance who was engaged in the dance, had made a farther
discovery, if the darkness of the night had not concealed
the blushes rising in her face : but the song being ended, as
well as many others afterwards, and the hour of rest now
drawing on, by the queen's command, they all repaired to their
several chambers.

21S

THE DECAMERON.

THE FIFTH DAY.

Tun sun now darted forth his golden beams over the fare
of our hemisphere, when Flammetta, awaked by the sweet mu-
sic of the birds, who, from the first notice of day, had been
merrily chanting among the trees, arose, and had all the
company called up ; when they walked leisurely together
upon the dewy grass, into a pleasant meadow, until the
sun was a little higher; conferring by the way upon many
agreeable subjects. At last, when the heat grew a lit-
tle intense, they retreated to their former station, where they
refreshed themselves with wine and sweetmeats, and di-
verted themselves afterwards in the garden, till dinner-time:
everything being provided at that hour, in the neatest
manner by their steward, they had a song or two, and then
sat down : and dinner being ended, they were entertained
again both with music and dancing. After that was over, the
queen gave them their liberty: when accordingly, some went
to lie down, and others amused themselves in the mean
time in the garden : but at the usual hour they all met by
her order at the fountain-side. When, being seated on her
throne, and casting her eye upon Pamphilus, she smiled ; and
desiring him to begin, he immediately complied in thi* manner —

249

THE FIFTH DAY.

NOVEL I.

Cymon becomes wise by being in love, and by force of arms wins
Ephigenia his mistress upon the seas; and is imprisoned at
Rhodes. Being delivered from thence by Lysimachus, with him
he recovers Ephigenia,and flies with her to Crete, where he is mar-
ried to her, and is afterwards recalled home.

A great many novels come now fresh into my mind, for
the beginning of such an agreeable day's discourse as this is
likely to be ; but one I am more particularly pleased with, be-
cause it not only shews the happy conclusion which we are to
treat about, but how sacred, how powerful also, as well as ad-
vantageous, the force of love is ; which some people, with •
out knowing what they say, unjustly blame and vilify, and
which I judge will rather be had in esteem by you, as I sup-
pose you all to be subject to the tender passion. Accord-
ing to the ancient histories of Cyprus, there lived sometime
in that island, one of great rank and distinction, called
Aristippus, by far the wealthiest person in all the country :
and if he was unhappy in any one respect, it was in having,
amongst his other children, a son, who though he exceeded
most young people of his time in stature and comeliness,
yet he was a perfect natural : his true name was Galeso, but
as neither the labour nor skill of his master, nor the correc-
tion of his father, was ever able to beat one letter into his
head, or the least instruction of any kind, and as his voice
and manner of speaking were strangely harsh and uncouth,
he was by way of disdain, called only Cymon ; which in
their language signified beast. The father had long beheld
him with infinite concern, and as all hopes were vanished
concerning him, to remove out of his sight an object which
afforded constant matter of grief, he ordered him away to his
country-house, to be there with his slaves. This was ex-

250 FIFTH DAY.

tremely agreeable to Cymon, because people of that port had
been always most to his oiind. Residing there and doing all
sorts of drudgery pertaining to that kind of life, it happened
one day as he was going about noon-tide, with his staff
upon his shoulder, from one farm to another, that he passed
through a pleasant grove, which as it was then the month
of May, was all in bloom; from whence, as his stars led
him. he came into a meadow surrounded with high trees, in
one corner of which was a crystal spring, and by the side
of it, upon the grass, lay a most beautiful damsel asleep,
clothed with a mantle so exceedingly fine and delicate, as
scarcely to conceal underneath the exquisite whiteness of her
skin ; only from her waist downwards, she wore a white
silken quilt, and at her feet were sleeping likewise, two women
and a man-servant.

As soon as Cymon cast his eye upon her, as if he had
never seen the face of a woman before, he stood leaning upon
his stalF, and began to gaze with the utmost astonishment
without speaking a word. When suddenly, in his rude unci-
vilized breast, which had hitherto been incapable of receiv-
ing the least impression of politeness whatsoever, a sudden
thought arose, which seemed to intimate to his gross and
shallow understanding that this was the most agreeable
sight that ever was seen. From thence he began to examine
each part by itself, commending every limb and feature ; and
being now become a judge of beauty, from a mere idiot, he
grew very desirous of seeing her eyes on which account, he
was going several times to awake her ; but as she so far ex-
celled all other women that he ever saw, he was in doubt whe-
ther she was a mortal creature. This made him wait to see
if she would awake of her own accord ; and though that ex-
pectation seemed tedious to him, yet so pleasing was the ob-
ject, that he had no power to leave it.

After a long time she came to herself, and raising her
head, saw Cymon stand propped upon his stick before her,
at which she was surprised, and said, "Cymon, what are you
looking for here at this time of day ?" Now he was known
all over the country, as well for his own rusticity, as his fa-
ther's nobility and great wealth. He made no answer but
stood with his eyes fixed upon her's, which seemed to dart a
sweetness, that filled him with a kind of joy to which he had
hitherto been a stranger; whilst she, observing this, and
not knowing what his rudeness might prompt him to do, called
up her women, and then said, "Cymon, go about your busi-
ness." He replied, " I will go along with you." And
though she was afraid, and would have avoided his com-
pany, yet he would not leave her till he had brought her to
her own house ; from thence he went home to bis father,
when he declared that be would return no more into the coun-

NOVEL I. 251

try, which was very disagreeable to all his friends, but yet they
let him alone, waiting to see what this change of temper
could be owing to. Love thus having pierced his heart, when
no lesson of any kind could ever find admittance, in a little
time his way of thinking and behaviour were so far changed,
that his father and friends were strangely surprised at it, as
well as every body that knew him. First of all then, he
asked his fathes to let him have clothes, and every thing else
like his brethren; to which the father very willingly consent-
ed. Conversing too with young gentleman of character, and
observing their ways and manner of behaving, in a very short
time he not only got over the first rudiments of learning, but
attained to some knowledge in philosophy. Afterwards, his
love for Ephigenia being the sole cause of it, his rude and
rustic speech was changed into a tone more agreeable and
civilized: he grew also a master of music; and with regard
to the military art, as well by sea as land, he became as ex-
pert and gallant as the best. In short, not to run over all
his excellencies, before the expiration of the fourth year
from his being first in love, he turned out the most accom-
plished young gentleman in every respect that ever Cyprus
could boast of. What then, most gracious ladies, shall
we say of Cymon ? Surely nothing less than this ; that all
the noble qualities, which had been infused by Heaven into
his generous soul, were shut up as it were by inviduous for-
tune, and bound fast with the strongest fetters in a small
corner of his heart, till love broke the enchantment, and
drove with all its might, these virtues out of that cruel ob-
scurity, to which they had been long doomed, to a clear and
open day ; plainly shewing from whence it draws those
spirits that are its votaries, and whither its mighty influence
conducts them. Cymon therefore, though he might have his
flights like other young people, with regard to his love for
Ephigenia, yet when Aristipp us considered it was that had
made a man of him, he not only bore with it, but encou-
raged him in the pursuit of his pleasures. Cymon, never-
theless, who refused to be called Caleso, remembering that
Ephigenia had styled him Cymon, being desirous of bringing
that affair to a happy conclusion, had often requested her in
marriage of her father, who replied that he had already pro-
mised her to one Pasimunda, a young nobleman of Rhodes, and
that he intended not to break his word. The time then
being come, that was appointed for their nuptials, and the
husband having sent in form to demand her, Cymon said
to himself: " O, Ephigenia, the time is now come when I
shall give proof how I love you, I am become a man on
your account, and could I but obtain you, I should be as
glorious and happy as the gods themselves ; and have you I
will, or else I will die."

252 FIFTH DAY.

Immediately he prevailed upon some young noblemen
who were his friends to assist him; and fitting out a ship of
war privately, they put to sea, in order to way-lay the vessel
that was to transport Ephigenia ; who, after great respect
and honour shewed by her father to her husband's friends,
embarked with them for Rhodes. Cymon, who had but lit-
tle rest that night, overtook them on the following d?.y, when
he called out, " Stop, and strike your sails ; or expect to go
to the bottom of the sea." They, on the other hand, got
all their arms above deck and were preparing for a vigorous
defence. He therefore threw a grappling iron upon the
other ship, which was making the best of its way, and
drew it close to his own ; when like a lion, without wait-
ing for any one to second him, he jumped singly among his
enemies, as if he cared not for them, and love spurring him
on with incredible force, he cut and drove them all like so
many sheep before him, till they soon threw down their arms,
acknowledging themselves his prisoners ; when he addressed
himself to them in the following manner: — "Gentlemen,
it is no desire of plunder, nor enmity to any of your company,
that made me leave Cyprus to fall upon you here in this
manner. What occasioned it is a matter, the success of
which is of the utmost consequence to myself, and as easy for
you quietly to grant me : it is Ephigenia, whom I love above
all the world ; and as I could not have her from her father
peaceably, and as a friend, my love constrains me to v\ in
her from you as an enemy, by force of arms. Therefore I
am resolved to be to her what your Pasimunda was to have
been. Resign her then to me, and go away in God's name."

The people, more by force than any good will, gave her
all in tears, up to Cymon ; who, seeing her lament in that
manner, said, " Fair lady he not discouraged ; 1 am your
Cymon, who have a better claim, to your affection, on ac-
count of my long and constant love, than Pasimunda can
have by virtue of a promise." Taking her then on hoard
his ship, without meddling with any thing else that be-
longed to them, he suffered them to depart. Cymon thus being
he most over joyed man that could be, after comforting the lady
under her calamity, consulted with his friends what to do,
who were of opinion, that they should by no means return
to Cyprus yet: but that it was better to go directly to Crete,
where they had all relations and friends, but Cymon espe-
cially, on which account they might be more secure there
along with Ephigenia ; and accordingly they directed their
course that way. But fortune, who had given the lady to
Cymon by an easy conquest, soon changed his immoderate
joy into most sad and bitter lamentation. In about four
hours from his parting with the Khodians, night came upon
them which was more welcome to Cymon than any of the

NOVEL I. 253

rest, and with it a most violent tempest, which overspread
fhe face of the heavens in such a manner, that they could
neither see what they did, nor whither they were carried
nor were they able at all to steer the ship. You may easily
suppose what Cymon's grief* must be on this occasion. He
concluded that Heaven had crowned his desires only to make
death more grievous to him, which before would have been
but little regarded. His friends also were greatly affected,
but especially Ephigenia, who trembled at every shock, still
sharply upbraiding his ill-timed love, and declaring that this
lempest was sent by Providence for no other reason, but that
has lie had resolved to have her contrary to the will and dis-
posal of Heaven, to disappoint that presumption ; and that seeing
her diefirst, he mightdielikewiseinthe same miserable manner.
Amongst such complaints as these, they were carried at
last, the wind growing continually more violent, near the is-
land of Rhodes : and not knowing where they were, they
endeavoured, for the safety of their lives, to get to land if
possible. In this they succeeded, and got into a little bay,
where the Rhodian ship had arrived just before them : nor
did they know they were at Rhodes till the next morning,
when they saw, about a bow-shot from them, the same ship
they had parted with the day before. Cymon was greatly
concerned at this, and fearing what afterwards came to pass,
he bid them put to sea if possible, and trust to fortune, for
they could never be in a worse place. They used all possi-
ble means then to get out, but in vain ; the wind wras strongly
against them, and drove them on shore in spite of ail they
could do to prevent it. They were soon known by the sai-
lors of the other ship, who had now gained the shore,
and who ran to a neighbouring town, where the young
gentleman that had been on board were just gone before,
and informed them how Cymon and Ephigenia were like
themselves, driven thither by stress of weather. They
hearing this, brought a great many people from the town
to the sea-side, and took Cymon and his companions
prisoners, who had got on shore, with a design of fleeing
to a neighbouring wood, as also Ephigenia, and brought
them all together to the town. Pasiinunda, upon hearing
the news, went and made his complaints to the senate,
who accordingly sent Lysimachus who was the chief mag-
istrate that year, along with a guard of soldiers to conduct
them to prison. Thus the miserable and enamoured Cymon
lost his mistress soon after he had gained her, and without
having scarcely so much as a kiss for his pains. In the
mean time, Ephigenia was handsomely received by many
ladies of quality, and comforted for the trouble she had
sustained in being made a captive, as well as in the storm at
sea; and she remained with them till the day appointed
z

2 ■:. PIE 1 1! DAY.

lor their ''nuptials. However, Cymon and his friends had
their lives granted them (though Pasimunda used all his en-
deavours to the contrary) for the favour shewed to the Rho-
d'ruis the day before; but they were sentenced to perpetual
imprisonment, where they remained sorrowful enough, as
they had no hopes of obtaining their liberty.

.. whilst Pasimunda was making preparation for his uu;.-
ti.ils fortune, as if she bad repented the injury done to Cy-
mon, produced a new circumstance for his deliverance.

Pasimunda had a brother, beneath him in years, hut nut in
virtue, called Ormisda, who bad been long talked of, as about
to marry a beautiful lady of that city, called Cassandra, whom
Lysimachus was also in love with, and bad for some time bei n
prevented marrying her, by divers unlucky accidents,
as Pasimunda was to celebrate his own nuptials with great
state and feasting* he supposed it would saw- a great deal ..i
expense and trouble, if his brother were to many at the same
time. He consequently proposed the thing again to Cas-
sandra's friends, and soon brought it to a conclusion; when
it was agreed by all persons, that the same day that l'asi-
munda brought home Ephigenia, Ormisda should bring
home Cassandra. This was very grating to Lysimachus,
who saw himself now deprived of the hope which he had
hitherto entertained of marrying her himself; but he was wise
enough to conceal it, contriving a way to prevent its taking
effect if possible ; none however appeared, hut that of taking
her away hy force. This seemed easy enough on account of
his office; still he thought it not so reputable as if he had
borne no offiee at all at that time; but in short, after a long
debate with himself, honour gave way to love, and he resolved,
happen what would, to bear away Cassandra.

Thinking then what companions he should make choice
of for this enterprise, as well as the means that were to he
taken, he soon called Cymon to mind, whom he had in cus-
tody, as also his companions: and thinking he could have
nobody better to assist him, nor one more trusty and faith-
ful on that occasion than Cymon, the next night he had him
privately into his chamber, where he spoke to him in this
manner: "Cymon, as the gods are the best and most liberal
givers of all things to mankind, so are they also the ablest
judg s of our several virtues and merits: such then as they
find to he firm and constant in every respect, them do they
make worthy of the greatest things. Now concerning your
worth and valour, they are willing to have a more certain
trial of both, than it was possible for you to shew within the
scanty limits of your father's house, whom 1 know to I. .
person of the greatest distinction; for first then, by the pun-
I ent force of love, as I aminformed, have they, from a i
insensible creature, made a man of you, and afterward

NOVEL I. 255

adverse fortune, and now, by a miserable imprisonment, are
they willing to see if your soul be changed from what it
was, when you appeared flushed so lately with the prize you
had won. If that continues the same, I can propose nothing
so agreeable to you as what I am now going to offer ; which, that
you may resume your former might and valour, I shall im-
mediately disclose. Pasimunda, overjoyed with your disap-
pointment, and a zealous promoter, as far as in him lay, of
your being put to death, is now about to celebrate his mar-
riage with your Ephigenia, that he may enjoy that blessing,
which fortune, when she was favourable, first put into your
power, and afterwards snatched away from you, but how this
must afflict you, I can easily suppose by myself, who am
like to undergo the same injury, and at the same time,
with regard to my mistress Cassandra, who is to be married
then to his brother Ormisda. Now I see no remedy for either
of us, but what consists in our own resolution, and the strength
of our arms : it will be necessary therefore, to make our
way with our swords, for each of us to gain his lady : if then you
value (I will not say your liberty, because that without her,
would be of little weight with you, but I say if you value)
your mistress, you need only follow me, and fortune has put
her into your hands." These words spoke comfort to the
drooping soul of Cymon, who immediately replied, " Lysima-
chus, you could never have a more stout, nor a more trusty
friend for such an enterprise than myself, if it be as you seem
to promise ; tell me then what you would have me do, and you
shall see me put it nobly into execution."

Lysimachus made answer, " Three days hence the ladies
are to be brought home to their espoused husbands, when you,
with your friends and myself, with some people whom I can
confide in, will go armed in the evening, and enter their
house whilst they are in the midst of their mirth, where we
will seize on the two brides, and carry them away to a ship
which I have secretly provided, killing all that shall pre-
sume to oppose us." This scheme was entirely to Cymon's
good liking, and he waited quietly till the time appointed.
The wedding-day being now come, and every part of the house
full of mirth and feasting, Lysimachus, after giving the neces-
sary orders at the time fixed, divided Cymon and his com-
panions with his own friends into three parties, and putting
arms under their several cloaks, and animating them boldly
to pursue what they had undertaken, he sent one party to
the haven to secure their escape, and with the other two
they went to Pasimunda's house ; one they stationed at the
gate, to prevent any persons shutting them up in the house ;
whilst he, along with Cymon, went up stairs with the remain-
ing part. Coming then into the dining-room, where the two
brides, with many other ladies, were seated orderly at supper,

256 FIFTH DAY.

they advanced up to them, and throwing down all the tables,
each seized his lady, and giving them into the arms of their
followers, ordered them to cany them away to their ship. The
brides, as well as the other ladies and the servants, cried out
so much, that immediately there was a great tumult. In the
mean time, Cymon ami Lysimachus, with their followers, all
drew their swords, and came down st lirs again without any
opposition, till theymetwith Pasimunda, having in his hand a
great club, whom the noises had drawn thither, when Cy-
mon, at one stroke, laid him dead at his feet, and whilst Oi-
misda was running to his assistance, he was likewise killed
by Cymon : many others also of their friends, who came to
their relief, were wounded and beaten back. Leaving the
house then all full of blood and confusion, they joined par-
ties and went directly on to their ship with their booty,
without the least hindrance whatever ; when putting the la-
dies on board, and they with all their friends following them,
the shore was soon filled with crowds of people who came to
rescue them, upon which they plied their oars, and sailed joy-
fully away for Crete. There they were cheerfully received
by all their friends and relations, when they espoused their
ladies, and were well pleased with their several prizes. This
occasioned great quarrels afterwards between the two is
lands of Cyprus and Rhodes. At length, by the interposi-
tion of friends, every thing was admirably adjusted, and then
Cymon returned along with Ephigema to Cyprus, and Ly-
simachus in like manner carried Cassandra back to Rhodes..
where they lived very happily to the end of their days.

257

THE FIFTH DAY,
Novel ii.

Constantia is in love with Martuccio Gomito ; and hearing that
he was dead, out of despair, goes alone into a boat, which is
driven by the wind to Susa : finding him alive at Tunis, she
makes herself "known ; whilst he being a great favourite there
of the king's, marries her and returns home with her to Lipari,
very rich.

The queen seeing that Pamphilus's novel was at an end,
after praising it highly, she ordered Emilia to follow, who
began thus: — We are all of us justly pleased with such
things as we see attended with rewards, according to our
wishes ; and' because love is more often deserving of hap-
piness than misery, I shall therefore obey the queen with
a great deal more pleasure, by treating on the present sub-
ject, than I did the king, in discoursing of that of yester-
day. You must know then, ladies, that near to Sicily
is a little island called Lipari, in which, not long since, lived
a lady of a worthy family named Constantia, with whom
was in love a young gentleman of the same island, called
Martuccio Gomito, one of an excellent character, and very
eminent in his way. She also had the same regard for him, so
that she was never easy but when she saw him. He therefore
desirous of marrying her, asked her father's consent, who re-
plied, that as he was in poor circumstances, he would never
give it. Martuccio, grieved to see himself rejected on ac-
count of his poverty, fitted out a little vessel, with some of
his friends and relations, and made a resolution never to re-
turn to Lipari till he should be rich. Parting from thence,
he cruized on the coast of Barbary, taking every thing of
less force than himself that came in his way. And fortune
z 2

258 FIFTH DAY

was favourable enough to him, could he have set bounds
to his desires : but not being satisfied, he and his friends,
with being very rich, and willing still to be more so,
it happened that they were taken by some Saracen ships,
after making a most obstinate defence, when, being plun-
dered of all they had gotten, and the greatest part of
them slain, after sinking the ship, he was carried prisoner
to Tunis, where he suffered a long and miserable con-
finement. In the mean time, news was brought to Li-
pid, from divers hands, that they were all drowned; which
was such an affliction to the lady, that she resolved not to sur-
vive it ; and not having a heart to make away with herself
by any violent means, she chose to lay herself under a neces-
sity of meeting with her death : accordingly she went pri-
vately one night to the haven, where she found by chance a
small fisher's boat, at liberty from the other ships, and furnished
with sails and oars. Getting into this, and having rowed
a little way into the sea, she threw away her oars and rud-
der, and committed herself entirely to the mercy of the winds
supposing of necessity, that as the boat wTas empty, and no-
bod v to steer it, either that it must overset, or else dash
against some rock: and so break to pieces; and that, in
either case, she could not escape if she would. Wrapping her
head then in a mantle, she laid herself down weeping, at the
bottom of the boat. But it happened differently from what
she imagined, for it being a gentle north wind, and no sea,
the boat rode it out all night, and till the following evening,
when it was brought within a hundred miles of Tunis, to a
strand near a town called Susa: whilst the poor lady thought
nothing either of her being near the land, or upon the wide
sea, having never looked up from the time of her laying herself
down, nor meaning ever to do so. Now it happened, just as
the boat struck against the shore, that a poor woman was taking
away some nets which had been drying in the sun, who per-
ceiving the boat coming full sail against the shore, and sup-
posing the people to be all asleep in it, stepped into it, and
finding only this lady, she called several times to her be-
fore she could make her hear, she being fast asleep,
and seeing by her dress that she was a Christian, she
inquired of her in Latin, how it happened that she had arri-
ved there in the boat all alone. The lady hearing her talk
in Latin, was apprehensive that a different wind had driven
her back to Lipari ; and getting up, and looking all around
her, without knowing anything of the country, she then en-
quired of the good woman where she was; who replied,
"Daughter, you are near to Susa, in Barbary;" which the
lady hearing, was in great concern that she had not met with
the death she had coveted; fearing also, with regard to hei
mudestv, and not knowing what to do, she sat down and

NOVEL II. 253

began to weep. The good woman seeing this, had pity on her
and after much persuasion brought her to herjittle hut, where
she told her at length in what manner she had come thither.
The good woman then, finding that she was fasting ; set her
coarse bread, with some fish dressed, and water before her,
and prevailed upon her to eat a little. Constantia now in-
quired of the good woman who she was, that she talked La-
tin so well. Who told her, that she was of Trapani, that her
name was Carapresa, and that she was servant to some Chris-
tian fisherman. The lady hearing that name, full of grief
as she was, began to conceive some hope from it, yet could
she give no account why, only that she thought she had heard
the name before. Her desire to die was now much abated : and
without telling her who she was, or from whence she came,
she begged of her to have pity on her youth, and give her
such counsel as might enable her to avoid any injury that should
be offered to her. The good woman left her in her hut, till
she had taken care of her nets, when she covered her with her
mantle, and conducted her to Susa, saying to her, " Con-
stantia, I will bring you to the house of an old Saracen -dady
whom I work for sometimes ; she is very charitable, and I
dare say on my recommendation, will receive you, as though
you were her own child ; you must study then to oblige her as
much as possible, till it shall please Heaven to send you bet-
ter fortune." Accordingly she did as she had promised. The
old lady, upon hearing the poor woman's account of Constan-
tia, looked earnestly at her, and began to weep ; she after-
wards led her into the house, where she and some other wo-
men lived together, without any man amongst them, employ-
ing themselves in embroideries and other kinds of needlework.
In a few days she had learned to work in the same way, and
behaved herself in such a manner that they were extremely
delighted with her company ; and at length she made her-
self mistress of their language. In this manner she continued
at Susa, being given over at home for lost. In the mean-
time it happened, that one called Mariabdela, being in
possession of the kingdom of Tunis, a young lord, of great
birth and power in the kingdom of Grenada, laid claim also
to it, and assembled a powerful army to drive him out of the
country. This coming to the ears of Martuccio Gomito, who
was still in prison, and well acquainted with the Barbarian
language ; understanding also that the king made great pre-
parations for his defence, he said to one of his keepers,
" Could I but speak to his majesty, my heart forebodes that
I could give him such counsel as should assure him of victory."
The person reported this to his master, who immediately in-
formed the king ; he then sent for him, and demanded what
counsel it was that he had to give him '! He replied, " My
lord, if I am sufficiently acquainted, since I have been in

2G0 FIFTH DAY.

this country, with your manner of fighting, it should seem to
mc as if you depended principally upon your archers : now if [
can contrive a way whereby your enemies should want arrows,
at the time that you had plenty of them, I suppose you will
think then the battle would be yours." "Without doubt,"
replied the king, " if you can do that, I shall make no ques-
tion of being conqueror." Martuccio then added, " My
lord, it may easily be done, if you please, and I will shew
you which way. irou must have much finer cords made
for your archers' bows than are commonly used ; you must
also have the notches of your arrows made to suit these small
strings ; but this must be done so privately that the enemy
hear nothing of it, because they would then provide accord-
ingly. Now the reason is this: after your enemies shall
have discharged all their arrows, and likewise after your own
bow-men shall have made an end of theirs, you know that
they then gather up, and shoot back your own darts upon you,
at the same time that your archers are obliged to make use
of theirs : but your arrows will be useless to them, because
those small notches will not suit their great strings ; on the
contrary, the slender cords of your archers will very well re-
ceive the large notches of their arrows ; and thus your peo-
ple will have plenty of darts, when they shall be entirely
unprovided." The king, who was a most wise lord, was
pleased with the advice, and followed it, by which means he
got the victory. Martuccio was consequently in high fa-
vour, and soon attained to great power and wealth. These
things were soon noised over the country ; till at length Con-
stantia heard that her lover, whom she had thought to be dead,
was yet alive. The flame of her love, which had been so long ex-
tinct, now broke out afresh, and with greater vigour, and with
it revived her hopes ; insomuch that she related all that had
happened to her to the good lady, acquainting her that she de-
sired to go to Tunis, there to satisfy her eyes with beholding
what fame had long rung into her ears ; the lady commen-
ded her design, and as she had been hitherto a sort of a mo-
ther to her, embarked with her; when arriving there, they
were entertained together at one of her relation's houses.
Here they sent Carapresa, whom they had carried with them,
to learn what she could about him, who reported that he was
alive, and in great repute. The lady then resolving that she
would be the person to acquaint him with his Constantia
being there, went one day to his house, and said to him,
" Sir, one of your servants from Lipari is now a captive in
my house, and has a desire to speak to you in private ; for
which purpose that nobody might be entrusted with the se-
cret, he desired that [ would go myself to tell you." Mar-
tuccio gave her thanks, and followed her thither. As soon
as the youi ' him, she was pepfectly overcome with

NOVEL II. 261

joy, and being unable to refrain, threw her arms about his
neck ; whilst calling to mind her long sufferings, and present
transports, she burst out into a flood of tears. Martuccio stood
some time in amaze, till at last he said, with a sigh, " O, my
Constantia, are you alive ? It is some time since I heard you
were lost; nor have there been any tidings of you since."
And having said this, he embraced her with a great deal of
tenderness and affection. She then related to him all that had
befallen her, as well as the respect with which she had been
honoured by the good lady : when, after much discourse to-
gether, he went straight to the king, and made him acquainted
with the whole story, adding, that with his consent, he in-
tended to espouse her according to the manner of our laws.
The king was greatly surprised at the narration, and send-
ing for her, received the same account from her own mouth.
He then said, " Lady you have well earned your husband ;"
then ordering many rich presents to be brought, he gave
part to her and part to him, and desired them to do what
was most agreeable to themselves. Martuccio was very thank-
ful to the lady who had entertained Constantia, and made
her a suitable acknowledgement ; and taking their leave of
her not without many tears, they embarked (having Cara-
presa along with them) for Lipari, where they were received
with inexpressible joy; and the nuptials being celebrated
with the greatest magnificence, they lived long together in
the utmost tranquillity and comfort, enjoying the fruits of
their mutual loves.

■ • 2

THE FIFTH DAY.

NOVEL III.

Pictro Borcamazza running away tvith his mistress, is set upon
by thieves, whilst the lady makes her csraj>e into a forest, from

whence she is conducted to a castle. He is taken, but escapes
by some accident, and arrives at the same castle, where they
are married, and return from thence to Rome.

There was not one person among them all, that did not ap-
plaud Emilia's novel; when the epieen, knowing it was ended,
turned to Eliza, and desired her to go on, who as readily
obeyed in this manner: — I have a mind to relate a most me-
lancholy night, as it happened to two lovers ; but which,
being succeeded by many happy days, is conformable enough
to the subject proposed. There lived at Rome, which was
once the head, though now the tail of the world, a young
I man of a good family, named Pietro Boccamazza, who
was in love with a most beautiful lady, called Angelina,
daughter to one Gigliuozzi Saullo, a plebeian, but one well es-
teemed among his fellow-citizens ; and she in some time be-
gan to have the same regard for him. When, weary of lan-
guishing longer for her, he demanded her in marriage, which
as soon as his parents knew, they blamed him very much,
and at the same time, gave the father of the lady to under-
stand, that they would have him take no notice of what
the young spark might say upon that bead ; since, should he
marry her, they would never own him more. Pietro, seeing him-
self disappointed in that manner, was ready to die with grief,
and could hi- but have prevailed upon her father, be would
have married her in spite of them all : at last he thought
of a scheme, which, if she would agree to it, would answer bis
purpose, and finding by a messenger that she was willing,

NOVEL II J. 263

it was resolved between them to fly together from Rome,
Having concerted measures for their departure, they set out
one morning on horseback, towards Alagna, where he had
some friends in whom he had the greatest confidence ; when
not having time to marry , and making the best of their way
for fear of being pursued, it happened after their riding
about eight miles, that they missed their road, turning to the
left, when they should have kept to the right, and in about
two miles farther, came in sight of a little castle, when
being perceived from thence, twelve men came rushing
out upon them, whom she espying, but not till they were almost
upon them, cried out, " Ride my dear, for we are attacked ;"
and accordingly, clapping spurs to her horse, and holding
fast by the pommel of the saddle, she galloped full speed
through the forest. Pietro, whose eyes were more upon
his mistress than any thing else, followed her as well as he
could, till unawares he fell in amongst them, who seized and
made him dismount : inquiring then wiio he wTas, and being
told, they said one to another, " This man is a friend to our
enemies ; let us strip and hang him up on one of these oaks,
out of spite to the Orsini family." Having agreed upon
this, they ordered him to undress himself, which he complied
with, expecting nothing but death ; when on a sudden an am-
buscade of twenty-five others started up behind them, crying
out aloud, " Kill them every man." Upon this they left
Pietro, to prepare for their own defence ; but finding them-
selves out-numbered, they took to their heels, and the others
followed hard after them.

Pietro, in the mean time took his clothes, and getting
on horseback again, rode as fast as he could the same way
that Angelina had taken ; but seeing no tract or footsteps of
any horse, and finding himself out of the reach, as well of
those who had first taken him, as of the others by whom
those persons were attacked, and not being able to make her
out, he was almost distracted, and went up and down the for-
est ; calling aloud to see if she could hear, but in vain. Being
in this disagreeable situation, he durst not return back,
and all before him he was ignorant of; besides, he was under
perpetual apprehensions for them both, on account of the
wild beasts which are in those places ; and fancied every
moment that he saw some bear or wolf tear her to pieces.
In this manner did poor Pietro traverse the forest over and
over, hallooing and shouting, and frequently coming back
again, when he thought he was going forwards all the time ;
until, what with his fatigue, added to his fright and long
fasting he was quite spent. Perceiving now the night
coming upon him, and not knowing what else to do, he tied
his horse to an oak tree, and got up into it to secure him-
self from the wild beasts; whilst the moon rising soon

2C4 FIFTH DAY.

after, anil it being a fine clear night) he not daring to sleep
for fear of falling down ; or if he had been in a place
more commodious, his great grief and care for his mistress
would not have Buffered him to rest), he sat sighing there and
lamenting his hard fortune all the night Ion;;-. The young
lady, in the mean time, as we before observed, was car-
ried so far into the wood that she could not find the way
out again: therefore she went up and down full of griet
for what hail happened. At last seeing nothing of Pietro,
and getting into a little path, as it was now towards the even-
ing, she followed it so long, that in about two miles it
brought her in sight of a little hut, to which she rode as
fast as she could, and found therein a very old man and
his wife; who on seeing her, said-, "Daughter, what do you
in this country at this time of day?" She wept and re-
plied, that she had lost her company in the wood, and
inquired how near she was to Alagna. The honest man
made answer — " Daughter, this is not the way ; it is more
than twelve miles from us." She then said, " And how
far is it to any inn, where I may go to lodge ?" He answered,
" There is none near enough for you to go to by night." —
" For Heaven's sake," quoth the lady, " as I can go no
where else, will you please to give me a lodging ?" — " Daugh-
ter," replied he, "you shall be very welcome; but I must
acquaint you that there are companies of people both
friends and enemies, continually passing this way, who
do us great injury sometimes ; and should any of them
find you here, they might offer rudeness, and we not
have it in our power to help you. I apprise you of this,
that you may lay no blame upon us, if such a thing should
happen." The lady seeing it was late, though she was ter-
rified with the old man's words, said, " I trust to God for my
protection, as to what you mention ; but if that should hap-
pen, I may expect more mercy from men than from beasts."
She then alighted from her steed, and went to supper with
them, upon such poor diet as they had, and afterwards lay
down upon their bed with her clothes on, lamenting her
own misfortune and her lover's all the night, not knowing
whether she had more cause to hope or fear on his account.
About break of day, she heard a great noise of people on
horseback, and immediately she arose, and went into a
great yard behind the house, in one corner of which was a
stack of hay, and there hid herself. This was no soonei
done, but a knot of thieves was at the door, which was in-
stantly opened to them, and seeing there the lady's horse
and saddle, they asked to whom it belonged. The honest
man, seeing nothing of her, made answer, "Nobody is lure;
but this horse came to us last night, having got away I sup-
pose, liuiii his owner, and we took him in, that he should

E, E & A

NOVEL HI. 265

not be devoured by tbe wolves" — "Then," quoth the
captain, " as he has no master he shall be ours." Being-
dispersed up and down the house and yard, and laying down
their lances and targets, one of them by chance thrust his
spear into the hay where she had hid herself, and which
was so near killing her that she was on the point of making
a discovery ; for it pierced her clothes ; but recollecting
herself she resolved to lie still. in the meantime they fell
to boiling some kids and other flesh meat, that they had
brought with them, and after they had eat and drank,
they went about their business, carrying off the horse. When
they were gotten some distance from the house, the honest
man began to enquire of his wife what was become of the lady,
as he had never seen her since he rose. She replied that
she could not tell, and went all about to seek for her. Now
the lady, finding that the men were departed, came forth
from whence she had been concealed, which he was much
pleased at, finding that she had not fallen into their hands ;
and he said to her, " It is now day-light, we will go with
you therefore to a castle about five miles from us where
you may be in safety ; but you will be obliged to travel on
foot, for these sorry fellows have taken your horse quite away."
She was under no great concern for that loss, but begged for
them to show her the way, when they set forward, and ar-
rived there betimes in the morning. Now the castle be-
longed to one of the family of the Orsini, whose name was
Liello di Campo di Fiore, and by great fortune his lady was
then there, a worthy good woman, who seeing her, soon
recollected her, and received her with the utmost respect, in-
quiring by what means she had come thither. She then
related the whole story. On which the other, who knew
Pietro, he being a friend of her husband's, was under great con-
cern, supposing him to be dead ; and she said to her, " As
it happens that you know not where he is, I intend you
shall abide with me, till I have an opportunity of conveying you
safe to Rome."

Now as for Pietro, he had but a dismal night of it, for he
saw his horse soon surrounded by a number of wolves, which
made him break his bridle : and he endeavoured to make his
escape, but was so encompassed that he could not, and he
defended himself with kicking and biting for some time, till
at last he was pulled down, and torn all to pieces, and hav-
ing devoured him to the very bones, they went away. This
was the utmost affliction to Pietro, who expected much from
his horse, after all the fatigue that he had undergone ; and
he began now to despair of ever getting out of the forest.
It being at this time, almost day, and he nearly dead with
cold, as he was looking about him, he chanced to spy a fire
at last, about a mile off: when it was quite light therefore,
2 A

2CG FIFTH DAY.

lie descended from the tree, not without a great deal of fear,
and directed his course thither, v. hoe he found some shep-
herds making merry together, who received him out of mere
compassion: when, after he had eat and wanned himself, he
related his whole adventure, inquiring whether there was no
town or castle in those parts that he could go to. The shep-
herds told him, that three miles off was a castle belonging to
Liello di Campo di Fiore, whose lady was then there. He
presently entreated some of them to go with him, and two
readily offered their services. Being arrived, he was known,
and as he was going to send out to seek his mistress, he was
called by the lady of the castle, and on stepping up to her he
beheld Angelina, which made him the happiest man in the
world ; and if he was thus transported she was no less so.
The lady giving them a handsome reception, and hearing what
had happened to both, began to reprimand him fur attempt-
ing to do what was so disagreeable to his parents; but seeing
him resolved, and finding that he was agreeable to the lady,
she said, " What should I trouble myself for ? They like
each other and are both my husband's friends ; besides, it
se< ms as if Providence would have it so, seeing that one esca-
ped from being hanged, the other from being stabbed by a
lance, and both from being devoured by wild beasts. Then
let it be done." Turning to them now, she said, " If you
are resolved to be man and wife together, I am content, and will
celebrate the wedding at my husband's expense : afterwards I
will undertake to make peace between you and your friends."
Thus they were married in the castle, to their great joy, and
with all the magnificence that the country would afford; and
in a few days the lady carried them both to Rome, when
she took care to reconcile Pietro and his parents, who were
much enraged at wdiat he had done. He lived afterwards
with Angelina, in all peace and happiness to a good old age.

P 2

267

THE FIFTH DAY.

NOVEL IV.

liicciardo Manardi is found by Lizlo along ivith his daughter,
whom he marries, and they become reconciled together.

Eliza was listening to the commendations her novel excited,
when the queen laid the next charge on Philostratus, who
smiled, and began in this manner: —

I have been so often lashed by you for giving a harsh and
melancholy subject, that by< way of recompense, 1 think my-
self obliged to say something which will make you laugh : I
shall therefore relate a love affair, which after being attended
with nothing worse than a few sighs and a short fright, min-
gled with some shame;" was brought to a happy ending;
and this in a very short novel. Not long since there Jived in
Romagna, a worthy and accomplished knight, named Lizio da
Valbona, who had in his old age, by his lady Madam Giaco-
mina, a daughter, the most beautiful young lady in all the
country : being their only child, they were extremely tender
and careful of her, thinking through her to make some grand
alliance. Now there was a young gentleman, who used to
come much to their house, of a very agreeable person, whilst
Lizio and his lady were under no more apprehensions from him,
than they would have been from their own son : but he seeing
her often, and being charmed with her person and behaviour,
fell secretly in love, which she perceiving, soon returned by a
reciprocal affection, which delighted him exceedingly, and he
was often desirous of speaking to her, yet could never dare to
do it; till at length, he had the opportunity and courage one
day to say, " Pray Caterina let me not die for love," She replied
" Would to Heaven you would shew me the like mercy !" This
greatly pleased him, and he added, " I shall study your will

268 FIFTH DAY.

and pleasure in every thing ; do you find a way to make us
happy together." She then returned, " You see sir, how I am
watched, and therefore am unable to contrive the means for
your coming to me : hut if you can think of any method to do
it, without my being censured, tell me, and I shall he very
glad." He, after mature consideration, said, " My dearest Ca-
terina, I see no other way, but tor you to get leave to lie in the
gallery which looks towards the garden ; and if I knew when
that happened, I would endeavour to get«to you, however great
the height from the ground." She replied, " If you have the
courage to come, I think I can manage so as to lie there." lie
promised to do so, and for the present they parted : the fol-
lowing day, it heing about the end of May, she complained
grievously to her mother, that the heat was so excessive the
foregoing night, that she could not get a wink of sleep.
" Daughter," answered she, "you talk of heat, I do not think
the weather so sultry." — "Madam," she replied, " there is a
good deal of difference between old people and young." " That
may be so," quoth the mother, " but can I change the seasons ?
You must bear with the time of year as it is : another night
it may be more temperate, and then you will sleep better." —
" I wish it would," answered Caterina, " but the nights are
not used to grow cooler, the more the summer advances." —
"Then," said the mother, "what would youhave medoforyou?"
Shereplied, " If you andmy father please, I would gladly lie in
the gallery adjoining to your room, and which looks towards
the garden ; where by having plenty of fresh air, and hearing
the nightingale, it will be much more pleasant than lying in
your chamber." — " Daughter," quoth she, " be easy, I will
speak to your father about it, and we will do as he thinks best
in that case." Accordingly she moved the matter to Lizio, who
heing old, was apt to be a little testy, and he said, "What
nightingale is this she talks of? 1 will make her sleep at the
singing of a cricket." Caterina hearing this, kept awake the
next night, more through vexation than heat, and was not only
restless herself, but kept her mother also from sleeping. The
next morning the old lady complained to her husband, saying,
" You shew very little regard for your daughter : what docs
her lying in the gallery signify to you? she did not rest all
last night for the heat : and as to her fancy of the nightingale,
she is young, let her have her way." He replied, "Then
make her a bed there if you will, and let her hear the night-
ingale." A bed therefore was ordered to be set up for her,
which she gave Iticciardo to understand, by such a sign as had
been agreed on between them, when he soon knew what part
he had to act. Lizio, upon her going to bed, locked the door
that opened out of his chamber into the gallery, and then went
to rest himself. As soon as every thing was still, Iticciardo
got upon the wall, by help of a scaling ladder, from whence lay

NOVEL IV. 269

ing hold of the joinings of another wall, he climbed at last
(not without great difficulty, as well as danger had he fallen)
to the gallery, where the lady had long been expecting him. —
Now the nights being short, and happening to fall asleep
with her, the next morning, as soon as Lizio arose, he began
to think of his daughter ; when he opened the door, and said,
" Let us go see now how the nightingale has made her sleep."
Going then into the gallery, and drawing the curtains, he
found Ricciardo and her asleep together: upon this he stepped
back, and called to his wife, saying, " Come hither directly ;
you will find your daughter has heard the nightingale to some
purpose." Dressing herself as fast as she could, she followed
her husband, and seeing them together in that manner, was
going to give Ricciardo all the hard language she could devise,
but Lizio said, " Take care ; I charge you, to make no noise
about it ; as he has now got her, he shall keep her : he is of
a good family, as well as rich, so we cannot have a better
son-in-law. If he means to go off in a whole skin, he shall
marry her before I part with him." The wife on this was a
little comforted, and held her peace. Soon after this debate,
Ricciardo chanced to wake, and seeing it broad day-light, was
frightened out of his wits; calling then upon Caterina ; he
said, " Alas ! my life, what shall we do ? the day-light has
surprised me here with you!" At these words Lizio stepped
from behind the curtain, and said, " Oh I will take care you
shall do well enough." Ricciardo was quite confounded
at seeing him, and rising up in bed, he said, " For Heaven's
sake sir, I beg you will forgive me ; I confess I do deserve
to die ; save but my life therefore, and do what you please."
Lizio replied, "Ricciardo, my friendship for you did not de-
serve such a return as I have met with : but since it is so, you
have only one way whereby you may save your life and my
honour, that is, to marry her; either do that, or else make your
peace with Heaven, for here you shall die." There was no need
of many words : the fear of death, as well as his love for Ca-
terina, soon made him resolve, and he told him, that he was
ready to comply. Lizio then took his wife's ring, and made
him instantly espouse her, which being done, he desired them
to take their own time for rising. In the morning they had
some farther discourse together, and every thing being settled
to all their satisfactions, he married her in the most public
manner, and having carried her home with great demonstra-
tions of joy, they lived together from that time, with all the
peace and comfort that a married state can afford.

270

THE FIFTH DAY.

NOVEL V.

Guidotto da Cremona dying left a daughter to the care of
Giacomino da Pavia. Giannole dl Sever ino and Minghino di
Mingole are botli in love with her, and fight on her account,
when site is known to be Giannole' s sister, and is married to
Minghino.

Every one laughed at the story of the nightingale ; when
the queen turned to Philostratus and said, " If you gave us
concern with your subject of yesterday you have made ample
amends by your last story ; therefore you shall hear no
more of it." She then turned to Neiphile who began in this
manner : —

As Philostratus lays his scene in Romagna I intend to have
my novel also from thence. In the city then of Fano dwelt two
Lombards, one named Guidotto da Cremona, and the other
Giacomino da Pavia, both advanced in years, and men who
had lived as soldiers all their days. When Guidotto being
at the point of death, and having no son nor friend, in whom
he put greater confidence than in Giacomino, after settling
all his affairs, he left to his care a daughter of about ten
years of age, with the management of his whole substance.
In the mean time the city of Faenza, which had been long
embroiled in wars and confusion, being now brought into a
more flourishing state, and every one that pleased having
leave to return, it chanced that Giacomino, who had formerly
lived there, and liked the place, went back with all his ef-
fects, carrying this young lady along with him, whom he
loved and treated as his own child, and who, as she grew up,
became the most celebrated beauty in the whole city, ami
as accomplished in all respects as she was fair. On which

NOVEL V. 271

account she began to be admired by divers young gentlemen,
but two especially of equal fortunes, were so much in love,
that an utter hatred commenced between them for her sake ;
one was called Giannole di Severino, and the other Min-
ghino di Mingole. Either of these gentlemen would gladly have
married her, she being now fifteen ; but finding themselves
rejected by her friends, they resolved to try other means of
obtaining her. Giacomino had in his house an old maid-
servant, and a man called Crivello, a facetious, as well as
an honest person, with whom Giannole was acquainted, to
whom he made known his love, offering at the same time
a great reward, if by his assistance, he should in any wav
obtain his desire. Said Crivello, " Sir, I can do nothing more
for you than, when my master is gone out to sup any where,
to bring you where she is ; for were I to put in a word for
you, she would never give me the hearing : if you like this, I
dare promise you so far, afterwards you may do what you
think most proper." Giannole told him, he desired no more.
On the other part Minghino made his court to the maid,
who had delivered several messages to the lady in his favour,
and given her a good opinion of him ; she had also underta-
ken to introduce him the first evening that Giacomino hap-
pened to be abi-oad. Soon after this it happened that Gia-
comino was invited out by Crivello's contrivance, who imme-
diately gave notice to Giannole, and agreed with him to come,
upon giving a certain sign when he would find the door open.
In like manner the maid, being unacquainted with this, in-
formed Minghino of the same thing, adding, that upon ob-
serving such a token, he should then come into the house. In
the evening the two lovers, knowing nothing of one another,
but yet, each jealous of his rival, came with some friends
armed for their greater security. Minghino waked at a friends
in the neighbourhood to watch for the sign, whilst Giannole,
with his people stood a little distance from the house.
Now Crivello and the maid were contriving to send each
other out of the way. He said then to her, " Why do you
not go to bed? What are you doing about the house?"
The maid said again, " Why do not you go to your master,
you have had your supper? What do you stay for then?"
But neither of them was able to send the other away. Cri-
vello at last knowing the time to be come that he had ap-
pointed, said to himself, " What need I care for this woman ?
If she will not hold her tongue, I will find a way to make
her." Giving the signal then he went to open the door, when
Giannole, with two of his companions, immediately rushed
in, and finding the lady in the hall, they seized and were
going to carry her off" : the lady however defended herself
as well as she could, crying out very much, as did also the
jmaid. Minghino perceiving this, ran thither with his party

272 FIFTH DAY.

and seeing them bear her away, they drew their swords,
and called out aloud, " Traitors, ye are all dead men ; it shall
rnver be so. What violence is this I" And with these words
fell pell-mell on them. The neighbourhood also was soon
up in arms, and blaming those proceedings, joined with Min-
ghino. Therefore, after a long skirmish, Minghino took
the lady from Giannole, and brought her back to Giacomjno's
house. Ncr was the fray at an end till the city-officers came
and seized many of the persons concerned, and amongst the
rest Minghino, Giannole, and Crivello, and carried them to
prison. As soon as things were a little quieted, and Giaco-
niino returned, lie became very uneasy at what had happen-
ed, till hearing that she was not in fault, he was better sat-
isfied; but resolved, for fear of the -like accidents hereafter,
to marry her as soon as possible. In the morning the parents
of them both, having heard the truth of the story, and being
sensible of the evil which might ensue to both the young gen-
tleman, who were in custody, should Giacomino proceed rigor-
ously against them, they came therefore to him, and en-
treated him gently not to regard so much the injury which he
had received from the little discretion of the young men,
as the esteem and friendship which they hoped he bore
towards themselves, who now requested this favour at his
hands ; submitting themselves, and the youths also, who had
committed the offence, to make any satisfaction he should in-
sist upon. Giacomino, who had seen much of the world,
and was a person of understanding, answered in few words
" Gentlemen, were I in my own country, as I am now in
yours, I hold myself so much your friend, that I should do
this or anything else to oblige you ; but in this respect I am
the more ready to do it, as the offence is now committed
against yourselves. For this lady is not, as many may
think, either of Cremona or Pavia, but of Faenza ; although
neither myself, nor she, nor yet the person who bequeathed
her to me, knew whose daughter she was ; every thing then
shall be done according to your desire." The honest men
hearing that she was of Faenza, began to wonder ; and af-
ter thanking him for his gracious reply, they desired he
would be so kind as to tell them in what manner she came
into his hands, and how he knew that she was of Faenza.
lie replied, " Guidottoda Crema was my very good friend
and companion, and as he lay upon his death-bed, he told
me, that when this city was taken by the Emperor Fre-
derick, and given to be pillaged by the soldiers, he and some
others went into a house full of rich booty, which was for-
saken by the owners ; only this girl, who seemed then but
two years old, was left behind ; and she seeing him go up
stairs, called Papa ; for which reason he took pity on her, and
brought her away with everything that was of value in the

NOVEL V. 273

house to Fano; when dying there, he left her in charge
to me ; desiring, when she should be of age, that I would
marry her, and give what was her own, by way of for-
tune : since therefore she has been grown up, I have met
with nobody that I have thought a fit match for her, other-
wise 1 would willingly dispose of her, lest the like accident
should happen again, that befel us last night." At this time,
there was present one Gulielmino da Medicina, who was
with Guidotto in that expedition, and knew very well whose
house it was that he had plundered, and seeing that person in
the company, he accosted him, and said, " Bernarbuccio,
do you hear what Giacomino has been talking of?" — " Yes,"
he replied, " and I am now thinking about it ; for in that
confusion I remember to have lost a daughter about the same
age that he speaks of." — " Then," said Gulielmino, "it
is certainly the same : for I was there at that time, and heard
Guidotto relate how he plundered such a house, when I
knew it must be yours : see therefore if you can call to
mind any mark that she had, whereby you may know her,
for she is plainly your daughter." He then remembered
that she had a scar like a cross under her left ear, and he de-
sired Giacomino to shew him to his house that he might con-
vince himself by seeing her. Accordingly, he brought him
thither very willingly, when the very first sight of her put
him in mind of her mother; but not regarding that, he
told Giacomino, that he should take it as a favour if he might
turn aside the hair from her left ear ; which being permitted,
he found the same mark, and was convinced that she was his
daughter : he then said to Giacomino, " Brother this is my
daughter, it was my house that Guidotto pillaged, when tins
child was forgotten by her mother, in our great huiry, and
we supposed that she was burnt along with the house." The
lady hearing this, and seeing him to be a person of gravity,
moved also perhaps by secret instinct, easily gave credit to it,
and both of them burst into tears. Bernarbuccio then sent
for her mother and her other relations, as also her sisters
and brethren, when, relating what had happened, he carried
her home, to the great joy of them all, as well as satisfaction
of Giacomino. Whilst the governor of the city, who was a
worthy man, knowing that Giannole, whom he had in cus-
tody, was son to Bernarbuccio and the lady's own brother,
resolved to overlook the crime he had committed. Con-
versing then with Bernarbuccio and Giacomino about it, he
undertook to make peace between Giannole and Minghino, to
whom, by the consent of all parties, he gave her to wife, and
set all the other people at liberty. Minghino then made
a most sumptuous wedding, and carried his bride home in
great state, where they lived happily together for a long course
of years.

271

THE FIFTH DAY,

NOVEL VI.

Gianni di Procida is discovered u-iiii a young lady, formerly liis
■mistress, but then given to King Frederic, for which lie is con-
demned to be burnt with her at a stake. When, being known
by Ruggieri dell' Oria, he escapes, and marries her.

Neiphile's agreeable novel being ended, Pampinea received
an order to proceed, and quickly raising her lovely counte-
nance, she thus began : —

Great, most gracious ladies, is the force of love, which often
leads people to rash and perilous attempts, as you have heard
set forth in divers instances, both now and heretofore, and which
I shall further evince in what 1 am going to relate concerning
an enamoured youth, as follows. Ischia is an island near Naples,
in which lived a beautiful young lady named Restituta, daugh-
ter to a certain gentleman called Marin Bolgaro, with whom
was in love a young gentleman of Procida, called Gianni, and
she had the same affection for him. Now not a day passed but
he would go to Ischia to see her, and frequently in the night ;
if he could not get a boat, he would swim over, though it was
only to please himself with the sight of her house. Whilst
his love continued then so extremely fervent, it chanced that
she was walking out one summer's day on the sea-shore, and
passing from one rock to another picking up shells, when she
came near a grotto, where some young Sicilians, just come
from Naples, w< re assembled together, partly for the sake of
the shade, and partly for the fresh water, of which there was a
cool and pleasant spring: they seeing her by herself, and
she 'perceiving nothing of them, agreed together to seize and
carry her away. 'J I, y c msequently surprised and took her to
their ship, though sht made a great outcry, and sailed oil' with

NOVEL VI. 275

her. Being arrived at Calabria, a dispute arose amongst them,
whom she should belong to ; when coming to no agreement
about her, it was at last thought convenient, to remove all cause
of dissention, by making a present of her to Frederick king of
Naples, who was young and addicted to his pleasures. Ac-
cordingly they found that prince mightily pleased with her ;
but being a little indisposed at that time, he had her sent to
a pleasant seat built in one of his gardens called La Cuba, to
be kept there for his purpose. The lady's being stolen made
a great noise all over Ischia, and so much the more as the
persons concerned were unknown, but Gianni, who was more
particularly interested in the affair, never expecting to hear any
tidings of her there, and understanding which way the vessel
had steered, got another ready, and went all along the sea-coast
from Minerva to Scalea, in Calabria, to inquire after her; and
at this last place he was told, that she was carried by some Si-
cilian sailors to Palermo. Thither then he went, with all pos-
sible speed, when after much inquiry, he found that she was
presented to the king, and kept for his purpose in La Cuba ;
which gave him infinite concern, and he began to despair, not
only of getting her back, but even of ever seeing her more ;
but yet being detained by his love, he sent his frigate home,
and resolved to stay there, as nobody knew him ; when pass-
ing pretty often in sight of the house, they chanced one day to
spy one another through the window, to the great satisfaction
of both. And be, seeing the place was private got near enough
to speak to her, and being instructed by her what course to
take if he desired to have a nearer interview, he left her for
that time, taking particular notice first, of the situation of
the place ; and waiting for night, when a good part of tbat was
spent he returned, and clambering over the walls, which seemed
inaccessible, he made his way into the garden, where finding a
long piece of timber, he set it against the window, and by the
help of it got into the chamber. The lady, reflecting that she
had lost her honour, of which she had before been very tena-
cious, supposing also, that she could bestow her favours on none
who deserved them better, was the less scrupulous in this affair,
and had left the casement open on purpose for him. She now
begged earnestly of him, that he would contrive some method
to get her from thence, and he promised to order every thing
so that the next time he came he would take her away. This
being agreed, he went and lay down on the bed by her. In
the mean time the king being much smitten with her beauty,
and finding himself recovered, had a mind though it was far in
the night, to go and spend some time with her. Coming there-
fore, with a few servants to the house, and going softly to the
chamber where he knew she was, to his great surprise he saw
Gianni and her asleep together. This provoked him to that
degree, that he was on the point of putting both to death : till
reflecting that it would be base in any person, and more so in

276 FIFTH DAY.

a king, to kill people unarmed and asleep, lie held his hand,
but resolved to make a public example of them, and to burn
them alive. Then turning to one of his company, he said,
" What do you think of this base woman, on whom 1 had fixed
all my hopes?" He afterwards inquired if they knew the man,
who had the assurance to come there to commit such an out-
rage. The person replied, that he did not remember ever to
have seen him before. The king upon this went away greatly
disturbed, commanding that as soon as it was light they should
be brought bound to Palermo, when they were to be tied back
to back, and kept there till three o'clock, for every body to see
them, and then to be burned as they deserved. Accordingly
they were seized and bound without the least remorse or pity ;
and being brought, as the king had ordered, to Palermo, they
were tied to a stake in the great square, and the fire and faggots
were ready to burn them at the time appointed : whilst all the
people of the city flocked to see the sight, the women greatly
pitying and commending the man; the men also shewed the
same regard for the poor woman, everyone highly admiring her
most extraordinary beauty. But the two lovers stood with their
eyes fixed on the ground, lamenting their hard fate, and wait-
ing every moment for their sentence to be put in execution.
Whilst they were kept in this manner till the time fixed upon,
the news was caried to Ruggieri dell' Oria, a person of great
worth and valour, who was the king's high admiral ; and he
coming to the place, cast his eyes first upon the lady, and
praised her beauty very much. He then turned to Gianni,
when he soon called him to mind, and asked him if he was not
Gianni di Procida. Gianni lifted up his eyes, and remember-
ing the admiral, he said, " I was once that person ; but now I
am to be so no more." The admiral then inquired what it
was had brought him to this. Gianni replied, " Love and the
king's displeasure." The admiral made him tell the whole
story, and as he was going away, Gianni called him back, and
said, " My lord, if it be possible, pray obtain one favour of his
majesty for me." Ruggieri asked what that was. Gianni
made answer, " I find that I am to die without delay ; there-
fore I only beg that, as I am tied with my back to this lady,
whom I have loved dearer than my own life, and am not able
to see her, that we may be bound with our faces to each other,
and so I may expire with the pleasure of looking upon her."
Ruggieri laughed, and said, " 1 will take care that you shall
see her to much better purpose." And he commanded those
who had the care of the execution to respite it till further or-
ders, and he went directly to the king. Finding him a good
deal out of temper, he spared not to speak his mind to this
etfect : — " My liege, what have these two young people done to
offend you, whom you have now ordered to be burnt? The
king told him. lie then added, " Their crime may deserve

NOVEL VI. 277

it, but not from you : and as misdeeds require punishment, so
benefits are worthy of rewards, as well as thanks and mercy.
Do you know who they are whom you have sentenced to be
burnt? The king answered, "No." — "Then," said he, "I
will tell you, that you may see how wisely you suffer yourself to
be transported with passion. The young man is son to Lan-
dolpho, brother to Gianni di Procida, by whose means you are
lord of that island. The lady is daughter to Marin Bolgaro,
whose influence it was, that secured your dominion over Ischia.
Besides, they have had a long regard and love for each other ;
and it was this, and no disrespect to you that put them upon
committing the crime, if it may be called such, for which you are
going to make them suffer death, but for which you ought ra-
ther give them some noble reward." The king hearing this,
and being assured that the admiral spoke nothing but the
truth, not only put a stop to the proceedings, but was grieved for
what he had done : he therefore ordered that they should be
set at liberty, and brought before him. Then hearing their
whole case, he resolved to make them amends for the injury
they had received, and giving them noble apparel and many
royal presents, he had them married, as it was their mutual de-
sire, and afterwards sent them home thoroughly satisfied
with their good fortune, which they long happily enjoyed
together.

2 b

?7s

THE FIFTH DAY

NOVEL VII.

Tficodoro is in love with Violante, his master's daughter ; she
j)roves with child, for which he is condemned to be hanged;
when being led out to execution, he is known by his father, set
at liberty, and afterwards marries her.

The ladies were some time in suspense, through fear, lest
the two lovers should be burnt ; but were mightily < plea-
sed at last to hear of their deliverance : when the queen
gave the next command to Lauretta who cheerfully took up
the thread as follows : —

When good King William ruled over Sicily, there lived
in that island a gentleman named Amerigo, abbot of Tra-
pani,who, amongst his other temporal goods, was well stored
with children; and having occasion for servants, and meet-
ing with some Genoese pirates from the Levant, who had
been coasting along Armenia, and taken several children,
supposing them to be Turks, he bought some, in appear-
ance chiefly peasants ,- and amongst the rest, one of a more
generous aspect, called Theodoro who, as he grew up, though
he was treated as a servant, was educated with Amerigo's own
children ; when his natural disposition was so good and agree-
able to his master, that he had him baptized, and called him
Pietro, making him overseer of all his affairs. Amongst
Amerigo's other children was a daughter, named Vio-
lante, a most beautiful young lady, who, having been kept
from marrying longer than was agreeable to her, cast her eye
at last upon Pietro, being charmed with his behaviour, though
she was ashamed to make such a discovery. l>ut love spared
her this trouble; lor he, by often looking cautiously at her,
was so far captivated, that he was always uneasy, unless

NOVEL VII. 279

he saw her, at the same time he was fearful, lest any one
should perceive it, as thinking it a sort of crime. This she
soon took notice of, and, to give him a little more assurance,
let him understand that it was not displeasing to her. Thus
they went on together, neither venturing to speak to the other,
though it was what they both desired. But whilst they thus
mutually languished, fortune, as if purposely, found means
to banish this bashfulness, which had hitherto been in the
way. Amerigo had a country-house about a mile from Tra-
pani, whither his wife and daughter, together with other la-
dies, used to go sometimes, by way of pastime; and being there
one day, having taken Pietro along with them, it happened,
that the day was overcast all at once with clouds, on which
account the lady and her friends made all possible haste home
again, for fear they should be taken in the storm. But Pietro
and the young lady being more nimble than the rest, had
got considerably the start of them, as much perhaps through
love, as fear of the weather, and being out of sight, there
came such claps of thunder, attended with a violent storm of
hail, that the mother and her company were glad to get into
a labourer's house, whilst Pietro and the young lady, having
no other place of refuge, went into an old uninhabited cottage
which had just cover enough remaining to keep them dry,
and here they were obliged to stand pretty close together.
This encouraged him to open his heart, and he said, " Would
to Heaven the storm would never cease, that I might con-
tinue here always in this manner!" — " I should like it," she
replied, " well enough." These words brought on some little
acts of fondness, which were followed by others so far, that
at last they grew very familiar together. The shower being
over, they went on towards the city, waiting by the way for
the mother, who having joined them, they came with her
home. They had frequent meetings from that time, conduct-
ed always with the greatest secrecy, till at length, she proved
with child, which terribly alarmed them both. On this,
Pietro being in fear of his own life, resolved to fly, and told
her so. She replied, " If you do that, I will certainly murder
myself." Pietro then, who loved her most affectionately,
said, " Why should you have me stay ? There must soon be
a discovery, when for your part you will be easily forgiven,
and I forced to bear the punishment of both." She made
answer, " Pietro, my crime must be known ; but as for
yours, be assured unless you tell it yourself, it never shall."
— "Then," quoth he, " if you promise me that, I will stay:
but be sure you observe it." The young lady who had con-
cealed as long as possible her being with child, finding it could
be kept a secret no longer, let her mother at last into the truth,
entreating her protection with abundance of tears. The
mother was very harsh with her, and insisting upon knowing

280 FIFTH DAY.

how it happened : when she, to keep her word with Pietro,
feigned a long story ahout it, to which the other easily gave cre-
dit, and to keep it private, sent her away to one of their farm-
houses. When the time of her labour was at hand, the mother
never suspecting any thing of her husband's coming, it
chanced that Amerigo, returning from hawking, thought, as
he passed under the window, that he heard something of a
noise and bustle above stairs, when he came in, and inquired
what the matter was. The lady seeing her husband, told
lain, with a great deal of concern, what had happened to then-
daughter. But he not quite so credulous as herself, said it
was impossible that she should be with child and not know by
whom, and he insisted upon knowing it ; by that means she
might regain his favour, otherwise he would put her to
death without the least mercy. The lady tried all she could to
make him satisfied with that story, but to no purpose. He
ran to his daughter with his drawn sword (who, whilst they
had been in discourse together, had brought forth a boy),
and said, " Either declare the father, or thou shalt die in-
stantly." She terrified to death, broke her promise to Pie-
tro, and made a full discovery. He was so enraged at this,
that he could scarcely forbear murdering her, till having ven-
ted something of his passion, he mounted his horse again,
and returned to Trapani ; when making his complaint to
one Signor Currado, who was governor there for the king, of
the injury Pietro had done him, he had him apprehended,
and he confessed the whole affair. Being condemned to
be whipped, and afterwards hanged; that the same hour
might put an end to the lives of both the lovers and the child,
Amerigo, whose anger was not appeased with Pietro's death,
sent a cup of poison, and a naked sword, by one of his ser-
vants to his daughter saying, " Go carry these two things to
Yiolante, and tell her from me, that she must take her
choice, whether to die by poison or by the sword ; and if she
refuse, I will have her burnt publicly as she deserves : when
you have done this, take her child and dash its brains out,
and then throw them to the dogs." "The fellow, more dis-
posed to such wickedness than any thing that was good, went
readily enough about his errand. JSow Pietro was whipped,
and as he was led along to the gallows, he chanced to pass
by an inn, where lodged three noblemen of Armenia, who
were sent as ambassadors by their king to the pope, to treat
of some weighty affairs with regard to an expedition he
was going to make. There they stayed to repose themselves
after their journey, and had great honour shewed them by
the nobility of Trapani, and especially by Amerigo. Ob-
serving the people to pass by, who were leading Pietro,
they went to the window to sec what was the matter. Pietro
stood stripped to the waist, with his hands tied behind

NOVEL VII. SSI

him ; when one of the ambassadors, named Phineo, an an-
cient person, and one of great authority, looking at him, saw
a red spot on his breast, which children sometimes are born
with, and immediately was put in mind of a son that had
been stolen from him by some pirates fifteen years be-
fore, of whom he could never since learn any tidings ; and
considering by Pietro's looks that he must be about the
same age, he began to suspect by the mark, that he was
the very person, and if so, he supposed he would remember
his own name, and his father's, as also something of the Ar-
menian language : therefore being near him, he called out
"OTheodoro!" Hearing that, Pietro lifted up his head.
Phineo then spoke to him in the Armenian language saying,
"Whence do you come, and whose son are you?" The of-
ficers now who led him, stopped out of regard to the worthy
person's character, when Pietro replied, " I am of Armenia,
the son of one Phineo, and was brought hither by I know
not whom."

Phineo was now convinced that he was his son, and he
came down with his friends full of tears, and ran to embrace
him among all the officers ; when throwing a rich mantle over
his shoulders, he desired the person who led him to wait till
orders should come to take him back : which the other replied
he should do very willingly. Phineo had learned the cause
of his sentence, as fame had noised it every where, when,
taking his friends with him, and their retinue, he went
to Currado, and said, " Sir the person whom you have con-
demned is no slave, he is a freeman, and my son : he is
ready also to marry the woman ; then please to defer the exe-
cution, till it be known whether she be willing to have him,
that nothing be done contrary to law." Currado was greatly
surprised, hearing that he was Phineo's son and being ashamed
of their mistake, confessed, that what he required was reason-
able. He then sent for Amerigo, and acquainted him with
these things. Amerigo was under great concern, lest his
daughter, and her child should be put to death before
that time, knowing if she was alive, everything might be
fairly accomodated ; therefore he sent in all haste to her, to
prevent his orders being obeyed, if they were not already per-
formed. The messenger found the servant, who had carried
the sword and poison, standing before her, and as she was in
no haste to make her choice, he was abusing her, and would
have forced her to have taken one. But hearing his master's
command, he returned, and told him how it was, at which he
was thoroughly satisfied, and went to Phineo to beg his pardon
for what he had done, declaring, that if Theodoro would marry
his daughter, he should be perfectly contented.

Phineo accepted his apology, and assured him, that he
should either marry her, or else the law should take its course.
2 b 2

2S2 FIFTH DAY.

This being agreed they went to Theodoro (who, though re-
joiced to rind his father, was yet under apprehensions of dy-
ing), and asked him if he consented. Theodoro hearing that he
had it in his choice to marry his Violante, was as much re-
joiced as it* he had gone directly from hell to heaven, and
replied, that he should esteem it as the greatest favour in
the world. They sent to know her mind in the case, who,
hearing of what had happened to Theodoro began to receive
a little comfort after all her affliction, and she said nothing
in the world could be more pleasing to her, than to be the wife
of Theodoro ; but yet she should always wait her father's com-
mands. Every thing being thus settled, the wedding was
celebrated to the great joy of the whole city. In a little time
the bride began to recover her looks, and having taken care
of the infant, she went to pay her respects to Phineo, who
being returned from his embassy, received her as his daughter,
with the utmost joy and respect Soon after they embarked
all together for Laiazzo, where the two lovers lived peace-
ably and happily together all their lives.

283

THE FIFTH DAY.

NOVEL VIII.

Anastasio being in love with a young lady, spent a good part of his
fortune without being able to gain her affections. At the re-
quest of his relations he retires to Chiassi, where he sees a
lady pursued and slain by a gentleman, a?id then given to the
dogs to be devoured. He invites his friends along with his
mistress to come and dine with him, when they see the same
thing, and she, fearing the like punishment, takes him for
her husband.

When Lauretta had made an end, Philomena began, by the
queen's command, thus :—

Most gracious ladies, as pity is a commendable quality in
us, in like manner do we find cruelty most severely pun-
ished by Divine Justice ; which, that I may make plain to
you all, and afford means to drive it from your hearts, I
mean to relate a novel as full of compassion as it is agreeable.

In Ravenna, an ancient city of Romagna, dwelt formerly
many persons of quality ; amongst the rest was a young gen-
tleman, named Anastasio degli Honesti, who, by the deaths of
his father and uncle, was left immensely rich ; and being a
bachelor, fell in love with one of the daughters of Signior
Paolo Traversaro (of a family much superior to his own)
and was in hopes, by his constant application, to gain her af-
fection : but though his endeavours were generous, noble,
and praiseworthy, so far were they from succeeding, that on
the contrary, they rather turned out to his disadvantage ;
and so cruel and even savage was the beloved fair one (either
her singular beauty or noble descent having made her thus
haughty and scornful), that neither he, nor any thing that
he did, could ever please her. This so afflicted Anastasio,

284 FIFTH DAY.

that he was going to lay violent hands upon himself: but
thi-nking better of it, he frequently thought to leave her en-
tirely ; or else to hate her if he could, as much as she had
hated him. But this proved a vain design ; for he constantly
found that the less his hope, the greater always his love.
Persevering then in his love and extravagant way of life, his
friends looked upon him as destroying his constitution, as well
as wasting his substance ; they therefore advised and entreated
that he would leave the place, and go and live somewhere
else ; for by that means, he might lessen both his love and
expense. For some time he made light of this advice, till
being very much importuned, and not knowing how to re-
fuse them, he promised to do so ; when making extraordinary
preparations, as if he was going some long journey either
into France or Spain, he mounted his horse, and left Ravenna,
attended by many of his friends, and went to a place
about three miles off, called Chiassi, where he ordered tents
and pavilions to be brought, telling those who had accompanied
him, that he meant to stay there, but that they might return
to Ravenna. Here he lived in the most splendid manner, in-
viting sometimes this company, and sometimes that, both/ to
dine and sup, as he had used to do before. Now it happened
in the beginning of May, the season being extremely pleasant,
that thinking of his cruel mistress he ordered all his family
to retire, and leave him to his own thoughts, when he walked
along step by step and lost in reflection, till he came to
a forest of pines. It being then the fifth hour of the day, and
he advanced more than half a mile into the grove with-
out thinking either of his dinner, or any thing else but his
love ; on a sudden he seemed to hear a most grievous lamen-
tation, with the loud shrieks of a woman ; this put an end to
his meditation, when looking round him, to know what the
matter was, he saw come out of a thicket full of briars and
thorns, and run towards the place where he was, a most beau-
tiful lady, naked, with her flesh all scratched and rent by
the bushes, crying terribly, and begging for mercy : in close
pursuit of her were two fierce mastiffs, biting and tearing
wherever they could lay hold, and behind upon a black
steed, rode a gloomy knight, with a dagger in his hand, load-
ing her with the bitterest imprecations. The sight struck
him at once with wonder and consternation, as well as pity
for the lady, whom he was desirous to rescue from such
trouble and danger if possible ; but finding himself with-
out arms, he seized the branch of a tree, instead of a truncheon,
and went forward with it, to oppose both the dogs and the
knight. The knight observing this, called out, afar off,
" Anastasio, do not concern thyself; but leave the dogs and
me to do by this wicked woman as she has deserved."
At these wordi the doy-s laid hold of her, and he comincr

! ■ fir OOF C1R-C".

NOVEL VIII. 2S5

up to them, dismounted from his horse. Anastasio then step-
ped up to him, and said, " I know not who you are that are
acquainted thus with me, but I must tell you, that it is a most
villainous action for a man armed as you are to pursue a na-
ked woman, and to set dogs upon her also, as if she were a
wild beast ; be assured, that I shall defend her to the utmost
of my power." The knight replied, " I was once your country-
man, when you were but a child ; and was called Guido de
gii Anastagi, at which time I was more enamoured with
this woman, than ever you were with Traversaro's daugh-
ter ; but she treated me so cruelly, and with so much insolence,
that I killed myself with this dagger, which you now see in
my hand, for which I am doomed to eternal punishment.
Soon afterwards she, who was over and above rejoiced at
my death, died likewise, and for that cruelty, as also, for
the joy which she expressed at my misery, she is condemned
as well as myself. Our sentences are, far her to flee be-
fore me ; and for me, who loved her so well, to pursue her
as a mortal enemy; and when I overtake her, with this dag-
ger, with which I murdered myself, do I murder her ; then I
open her through the back, and take out that hard and cold
heart, which neither love nor pity could pierce, with all her
entrails, and throw them to the dogs ; and in a little time
(so wills the justice and power of Heaven) she rises, as
though she had never been dead, and renews her miserable
flight, whilst we pursue her over again. Every Friday
in the year, about this time do I sacrifice her here, as you
see, and on other days in other places, where she has ever
thought or done any thing against me : and thus being from
a lover become her mortal enemy, I am to follow her as many
years as she was cruel to me months. Then let the Divine jus-
tice take its course nor offer to oppose what you are no way able
to withstand." Anastasio drew back at these words, terrified to
death, and waited to see what the other was going to do :
who having made an end of speaking, ran at her with the ut-
most fury, as she was seized by the dogs, and kneeled down
begging for mercy, when with his dagger he pierced through
her breast, drawing forth her heart and entrails, which the
dogs immediately, as if half famished, devoured. And in a lit-
tle time she arose again, as if nothing had happened, and
fled towards the sea, the dogs biting and tearing her all the
way ; the knight also being remounted, and taking his dagger,
pursued her as before, till they soon got out of sight. Upon
seeing these things, Anastasio stood divided betwixt fear
and pity, and at length it came into his mind that, if it hap-
pened always on a Friday, it might be of particular use.
Returning then to his servants, he sent for some of his friends
and relations, when he said to them, " You have often im-
portuned me to leave off loving this enemy, and to contract

286 FIFTH DAY

my expenses ; I am ready to do so, provided you grant
me one favour which is this, that next Friday you engage
Paolo Traversaro, his wife and daughter, with all their
women friends and relations to come and dine with me.;
the reason of my requiring this you will see at that time."
This seemed to them a small matter, and returning to Ra-
venna they invited all those who he had desired, and though
they found it difficult to prevail upon the young lady, yet the
others carried her at last along with them. Anastasio had
provided a magnificent entertainment in the grove where
that spectacle had lately been ; and having seated all his
company, he contrived that the lady should sit directly op-
posite to the scene of action. The last course then was no
sooner served up, but the lady's shrieks began to be heard.
This surprised them all, and they began to inquire what it
was, and as nobody could inform them, they all arose ; when
immediately they saw the lady, dogs, and knight, who were soon
amongst them. Great was consequently the clamour, both
against the dogs and knight, and many of them went to her as-
sistance. But the knight made the same harangue to them,
that he had done to Anastasio, which terrified and filled them
with wonder; whilst he acted the same part over again, the
ladies, of whom there were many present related to both
the knight and lady, who remembered his love and unhappy
death, all lamenting as much as if it had happened to them-
selves. This tragical affair being ended, and the lady and
knight both gone away, they had various arguments toge-
ther about it ; but none seemed so much affected as An-
astasio's mistress, who had heard and seen every thing dis-
tinctly, and was sensible that it concerned her more than
any other person, calling to mind her usage of and cruelty
towards him ; so that she seemed to flee before him all in-
censed, with the mastiffs at.her heels, and her terror was such,
lest this should ever happen to her, that turning her hatred
into love, she sent that very evening a trusty damsel pri-
vately to him, who entreated him in her name to come to see
her, for that she was ready to fulfil his desires. Anastasio
replied, that nothing could be more agreeable to him ; but
that he desired no favour from her, but what 'was consis-
tent with her honour. The lady, who was sensible that it
had been always her fault they were not married, answered
that she was willing ; and going herself to her father and
mother, she acquainted them with her intention. This gave
them the utmost satisfaction ; and the next Sunday the marriage
was solemnized with all possible demonstrations of joy. And
that spectacle was not attended with this good alone ; but
all the women of Ravenna, for the time to come, were so
terrified with it, that they were more ready to listen to and
oblige the men, than ever they had been before.

287

THE FIFTH DAY.

NOVEL IX.

Federlgo being in love, without meeting ivith any return, spends
all his substance, having nothing left but one poor hawk, ivhich
he gives to his lady for her dinner when she comes to his house ;
she, knowing this, changes her resolution, and marries him, by
which means he becomes very rich.

The queen now observing that only herself and Dioneus, were
left to speak, said pleasantly to this effect : —

As it is now come to my turn, I shall give you a novel
something like the preceding one, that you may not only know
what influence the power of your charms has over a generous
heart, but that you may learn likewise to bestow your fa-
vours of your own accord, and where you think most proper,
without suffering Fortune to be your directress, who dispo-
ses blindly, and without the least judgment whatsoever.

You must understand then, that Coppo di Borghese (who
was a person of great respect and authority among us, and
whose amiable qualities, joined co his noble birth, had ren-
dered him worthy of immortal fame) in the decline of life
used to divert himself among his neighbours and acquain-
tances, by relating things which had happened in his days,
and which he knew how to do with more exactness and ele-
gance of expression than any other person : he I say, amongst
other pleasant stories, used to tell us, that at Florence dwelt
a young gentleman named Federigo, son of Fillippo Alberighi,
who, in feats of arms and gentility, surpassed all the youth
in Tuscany: this gentleman was in love with a lady called
Madam Giovanna, one of the most agreeable women in
Florence, and to gain her affection, used to be continually
making tilts, Jballs, and such diversions; lavishing away

288 FIFTH DAY.

his money in rich presents, and every thing that was ex-
travagant. But she, as just and reputable as she was fair,
made no account either of what he did for her sake, or of
himself. Living in this manner, his wealth soon began to
waste, till at last he had nothing left but a very small farm,
the income of which was a most slender maintenance, and a
single hawk, one of the best in the world. Yet loving still
more than ever, and finding he could subsist no longer in the
city, in the manner he would choose to live, he retired to
his farm, where he went out a fowling, as often as the weather
would permit, and bore his distress patiently, and without ever
making his necessity known to any body. Now one day it
happened that, as he was reduced to the last extremity,
the husband to this lady chanced to fall sick, who being
very rich, left all his substance to an only son, who was al-
most grown up, and if he should die without issue, he then
ordered that it should revert to his lady, whom he was ex-
tremely fond of; and when he had disposed thus of his for-
tune, he died. She now being left a widow, retired, as our
ladies usually do during the summer season, to a house of
her's in the country, near to that of Federigo : whence it
happened that her son soon became acquainted with him,
and they used to divert themselves together with dogs and
hawks ; when he, having often seen Federigo's hawk fly,
and being strangely taken with it, was desirous of having it,
though the other valued it to that degree that he knew not
how to ask for it. This being so, the young spark soon fell
sick, which gave his mother great concern, as he was her only
child ; and she ceased not to attend on and comfort him ;
often requesting, if there was any particular thing which
he fancied, to let her know it, and promising to pro-
cure it for him if it were possible. The young gentleman,
after many offers of this kind, at last said, " Madam, if you
could contrive for me to have Federigo's hawk, I should
soon be well." She was in some suspense at this, and began
to consider how best to act. She knew that Federigo had
long entertained a liking for her, without the least encou-
ragement on her part ; therefore she said to herself, " How
can I send or go to ask for this hawk, which I hear is the very
best of the kind, and what alone maintains him in the world ?
Or how can I offer to take away from a gentleman all the
pleasure' that he has in life ?" Being in this perplexity, though
she was very sure of having it for a word, she stood without
making any reply ; till at last the love of her son so far pre-
vailed, that she resolved at all events to make him easy, and
not send, but go herself, to bring it. She then replied,
" Son, set your heart at rest, and think only of your recovery ;
for I promise you that I will go to-morrow for it the first
thing I do." This afforded him such joy, that he imniedi-

NOVEL IX. 289

ately shewed signs of amendment. The next morning she
went by way of a walk, with another lady in company, to his
little cottage to inquire for him. At that time, as it was too
early to go out upon his diversion, he was at work in his gar-
den. Hearing therefore, that his mistress inquired for him
at the door, he ran thither, surprised and full of joy ; whilst
she, with a great deal of complaisance, went to meet him ;
and after the usual compliments, she said, " Good morning
to you sir ; I am come to make you some amends for what
you have formerly done on my account ; what I mean is,
that I have brought a companion to take a neighbourly
dinner with you to-day." He replied, with a great deal of hu-
mility, " Madam, I do not remember ever to have received
any harm by your means, but rather so much good, that if I
was worth any thing at any time, it was due to your singular
merit, and the love I had for you: and most assuredly this
courteous visit is more welcome to me than if I had all that [
have wasted, returned to me to spend over again ; but you are
come to a veVy poor host." With these words he shewed her
into his house, seeming much out of countenance, and from
thence they went into the garden, when having no company
for her, he said, " Madam, as I have nobody else, please to
admit this honest woman, a labourer's wife, to be with you,
whilst I set forth the table." He, although his poverty was
extreme, was never so sensible of his having been extravagant
as now, but finding nothing to entertain the lady with, for whose
sake he had treated thousands, he was in the utmost per-
plexity, cursing his evil fortune, and running up and down
like one out of his wits ; at length, having neither money
nor any thing he could pawn, and being willing to give her
something, at the same time that he would not make his case
known, even so much as to his own labourer, he espied his
hawk upon the perch, which he seized, and finding it very
fat, judged it might make a dish not unworthy of such a lady.
Without further thought then, he pulled his head off, and
gave him to a girl to truss and roast carefully, whilst he laid
the cloth, having a small quantity of linen yet left: and
then he returned, with a smile on his countenance, into the
garden to her telling her that what little dinner he was able to
provide was now ready. She and her friend therefore, entered
and sat down with him, he serving them all the time with
great respect, when they eat the hawk. After dinner was
over and they had sat chattering a little together, she thought
it a fit time to tell her errand, and she spoke to him cour-
teously in this manner : — ■

" Sir, if you call to mind your past life, and my resolu-
tion, which perhaps you may call cruelty, I doubt not but
you will wonder at my presumption, when you know what I
am come for: but if you had children of your own, to know
2c

2!)0 FIFTH DAY.

how strong our natural affection is towards them, I am very
sure you would excuse me. Now, my having a son forces
me against my own inclinations, and all reason whatso-
ever, to request a thing of you, which I know you value
extremely, as you have no other comfort or diversion left in
your small circumstances ; I mean your hawk, which he
has taken such a fancy to, that unless I hring him back with
me, I very much fear that he will die of his disorder. There-
fore I entreat you, not for any regard you have for me (for
in that respect you are no way obliged to me), but for that
generosity with which you have always distinguished your-
self, that you would please to let me have him, by which
means you will save my child's life, and lay him under per-
petual obligations." Federigo, hearing the lady's request,
and knowing it was out of his power to serve her, began to
weep before he was able to make a word of reply. This she
first thought was his great concern to part with his favourite
bird, and that he was going to give her a flat denial ; but af-
ter she had waited a little for his answer, he said, " Madam,
ever since I have fixed my affections upon you, fortune has
still been contrary to me in many things ; but all the rest
is nothing to what has now come to pass. You are here to
visit me in this my poor mansion, and whither in my pros-
perity you would never deign to come ; you also entreat a
small present from me, which it is no way in my power to
give, as I am going briefly to tell you. As soon as I was
acquainted with the great favour you designed me, I thought
it proper, considering your superior merit and excellency, to
treat you, according to my ability, with something more nice
and valuable than is usually given to other persons, when
calling to mind my hawk, which you now request, and his
goodness, I judged him a fit repast for you, and you have
had him roasted. Nor could I have thought him better be-
stowed, had you not now desired him in a different manner,
which is such a grief to me, that I shall never be at peace as
long as I live :" and upon saying this, he produced his
feathers, feet, and talons. She began now to blame him for
killing such a bird to entertain any woman with ; secretly
praising the greatness of his soul, which poverty had no power
to abase. Thus, having no farther hopes of obtaining the
hawk, she thanked him for the respect and good- will he had
shewed towards her, and returned full of concern to her son ;
who, either out of grief for the disappointment, or through the
violence of his disorder died in a few days. She continued sor-
rowful for some time ; but being left rich and young, her
brothers were very pressing with her to marry again, which,
though against her inclinations, yet finding them still impor-
tunate, and remembering Federigo's great worth, and the
late instance of his generosity, in killing such a bird for her

NOVEL IX. 291

entertainment, she said, " I should rather choose to continue
as I am ; but since it is your desire that I take a husband, I
will have only Federigo de gli Alberighi." They smiled
contemptuously at this, and said, " You simple woman ! what
ate you talking of? He is not worth one farthing in the
world." She replied, " I believe it brothers, to be as you
say : but know, that I would sooner have a man that stands in
need of riches, than riches without a man. They hearing her
resolution, and well knowing his generous temper, gave
her to him with all her wealth ; and he, seeing himself pos-
sessed of a lady whom he had so dearly loved, and such a vast
fortune, lived in all true happiness with her, and was a bet-
ter manager of his affairs for the time to come. '

292

THE FIFTH DAY

NOVEL X.

Pietro di Vinciolo goes to sup at a friend's house ; his ivife in
the mean time has her gallant ; Pietro returns, when she hides
him under a chicken coop. Pietro relates, that a young fellow
was found in Hercolano's house where he supped, who had been
concealed by his wife. Pietro' 's wife blames very much the
wife of Hercolano ; whilst an ass happening to tread on the
young man's fingers, who lay hidden, he cries out. Pietro
runs to see what is the matter, and finds out the trick. At
length they make it up.

The queen had now made an end, and every one was pleased
with Federigo's good fortune, when Dioneus thus began ; —
I know not whether I should term it a vice accidental, and
owing to the depravity of our manners ; or whether it be
not rather a natural infirmity, to laugh sooner at bad things
than those which are good, especially when they no way con-
cern ourselves. Therefore, as the pains which I have be-
fore taken, and am also now to undergo, aim at no other end
but to drive away melancholy, and to afford matter for mirth
and laughter, although some part of the following novel be
not altogether so modest, yet as it may make you merry, I
shall venture to relate it ; whilst you may do in this case,
as when you walk in a garden, that . is, pick the roses, and
leave the briars behind you. So you may leave the sorry fel-
low to his own reflections, and laugh at the amorous wiles of
his wife, having that regard for other people's misfortunes
which they deserve. There dwelt not long since in Peru-
gia, a very rich man, named Pietro di Vinciolo, who, per-
haps more to lessen people's bad opinion of him than any-
thing else, took unto him a wife. And fortune was conform-

NOVEL X. 293

able to his inclinations in this manner ; namely, that he
met with a woman of such a disposition, as required two hus-
bands rather than one. Consequently, they had continual
jars and animosities together, whilst she would often argue
with herself in this way : " I made choice of this man, and
brought him a good fortune, expecting to live comfortably
with him, and I now find it impossible. Had I not been
disposed to be of the world, I would have shut myself up in
a monastery at once. I shall have old age overtake me be-
fore I know one good day, and then it will be too late to
expect it" Full of such reflections as these, she went at
last, and made her case known to an old sanctified virgin,
(who was perpetually saying over her Pater Nosters, and
would talk of nothing else but the lives of the holy fathers,
and the wounds of St. Francis), and she replied, " Daughter,
you think very rightly, there is no grief equal to that of
having missed our opportunity, as I can very well bear you
witness. It is not long that our bloom lasts, and we have it in
our power to do for ourselves ; afterwards, pray what are we
reckoned good for ? If you want any assistance, I will do
my best to serve you ; but you must consider that I am very
poor : I would have you therefore partake of all my pardons
and Pater Nosters." It was then agreed, that if the old
woman should meet with a certain gentleman in the street,
whom the other described to her, she then knew what she had
to do ,• and upon this she gave her some victuals, and sent
her away. The old wretch soon contrived to bring them toge-
ther, and they had several meetings: one evening in particular ;
the husband being engaged to sup with a friend of his, called
Hercolano, the lady and her gallant were no sooner seated
at table, but Pietro was heard knocking at the door. She
was frightened out of her wits, and being willing to hide him
somewhere or ether, and not knowing where to put him bet-
ter, she covered him with the hen-coop, which stood in
the next room, and throwing an empty sack over it, ran
to open the door, saying, "Husband, you have soon made
an end of your supper." Pietro replied, "I have not tas-
ted one morsel." "How could that be ?" quoth she. "I will
tell you," rejoined he, "how it was. Hercolano, his wife,
and myself, were all sat down, when we heard somebody
sneeze ; this we did not regard for once or twice, but it
happening three, or four, or five times, it naturally surpri-
sed us; and Hercolano (who was disturbed that his wife
made him wait some time at the door, before she let him in)
said in a passion, 'What is the meaning of this? Who is it
that sneezes in this manner V And getting up from the table,
he went towards the stairs, under which was a cupboard, made
to set things out of the way, and supposing that it came from
thence, he opened the door, when there immediately issued
2c2

294 FIFTH DAY.

out the greatest stench of sulphur that could be, though we
perceived something of it before, and they had had words about
it ; when she told him, that she had been whitening her veils
with brimstone, and had set the pan, over which she had
laid them to receive the steam, in that place, and she suppo-
sed it continued yet to smoke. After he had opened the
door, and the smoke was a little dispersed, he began to look
about to see who it was that sneezed, the sulphur provoking
to it ; and though he continued sneezing, yet his breast was
so straitened with it, that in a very little time more, he
would neither have done that, nor any thing else. Hercola-
no, seeing the person at last, cried out, ' So madam ! I now
see why vou made us wait so long at the door, but let me die
if I do not pay you as you deserve.' The wife, finding that
she was discovered, rose from the table without making any
excuse, and went I know not whither. Hercolano, not per-
ceiving that his wife was fled, called upon the man that snee-
zed, and ordered him to come out ; but he, who was indeed
not able, never offered to stir, notwithstanding all he could
say. Upon which he drew him out by the foot, and was run-
ning for a knife to kill him, but I, fearing to be drawn in
some difficulty myself about it, would not suffer him to
put him to death ; but defended him, and called out for the
neighbours to assist, who came and carried him away : this
spoiled our supper, and I have not had one bit, as I told you."
The lady hearing this account, saw that other women were
of the same disposition with herself, although some proved
more unlucky than others ; and she would gladly have vindicated
Hercolano's wife, but that she thought by blaming the faults
of other people, to make the way more open for her own, she
then began : —

" Here is a fine affair truly ! this is your virtuous and
good woman, who seemed so spiritually-minded always, that
1 could have confessed myself to her upon occasion. What
is worse, she is also old : she sets a fine example to young
people! Cursed be the hour of her birth, and herself also;
vile woman as she is ! to be a disgrace to her whole sex ; who
mindless of her own honour, and her plighted faith to her hus-
band, was not ashamed to injure so deserving a person, ami
who had been always so tender of her. As I hope for mercy,
I would have none on such prostitutes, they should every
soul of them be burnt alive."

Now calling to mind her own spark who was concealed,
she began to fondle her husband, and would have had him goto
bed ; but he, who had more stomach to eat than sleep, ask-
ed whether she had any thing for supper. " Yes truly,'
quoth she, "we are used to have suppers when you are from
home. I should fare better were 1 Hercolano's wife ; my
dear, now go to bed." That evening it happened, that cei'-

NOVEL X. 295

tain labourers of his were come with some things out of the
country, and had put their asses, without giving them any wa-
ter, into a stable adjoining to the little room, when one of them
slipped his halter, being very thirsty, and went smelling every-
where to drink, till he came to the coop under which tlie youno-
man was hidden. Now he was forced to lie flat on his belly,
and one of his fingers, by strange ill fortune, was uncovered,'
so that the ass trod upon it, which made him cry out most
terribly. Pietro wondered to hear that clamour, supposing
it was somewhere in the house, and finding the person con-
tinue to make a noise, the ass still squeezing close his finger
he called aloud, " Who is there?" And running to the coop'
and turning it up, he saw the young man, who, besides the'
great pam -he had suffered, was frightened to death, lest
Pietro should do him some mischief. He inquired of him
then what business he had there : to which he made no re-
ply, but begged he would do him no harm. Pietro then
said, " Get up, I shall not hurt you, only tell me how you
came hither, and upon what account." The young man con-
fessed everything ; whilst Pietro, full as glad that he had
found him, as his wife was sorry, brought him into the room,
where she sat, in all the terror imaginable, expecting him!
Seating himself now. down before her, he said, " Here, you
that were so outrageous at Hercolano's wife, saying that she
should be burnt, and that she was a scandal to you all ; what
do you say now for yourself? Or how could you have the
assurance to utter such things with regard to her, when you
knew yourself to be equally guilty ? You are all alike, and
think to cover your own transgressions, by other people's mis-
takes ; I wish a fire would come from heaven, and consume
you all together, for a perverse generation as you are." The
lady, now seeing that he went no farther than a few words,
put a good face on the matter, and replied, "Yes, I make no
doubt but you would have us all destroyed ; but I shall stick
close to you yet. You do well to compare me to Hercolano's
wife, who is a deformed hypocritical old woman, and he one
of the best of husbands ; whereas, you know it is the reverse
with regard to us two : I would sooner go in rags, were you
what you ought to be, than to have every thing in plenty,
and you continue the same person you have always been."
Pietro found she had matter enough to serve her the whole
night, and having never been over fond of her, he said, " I
will take care that you shall have more comfort for the time
to come ; do but see and get us something for supper, for I
suppose this young spark is fasting, as well as myself."—
'"Tis very true," she replied, " for we were going to sit
down, when you unluckily came to the door."—" Then go
and get something," he said, " and we will have no more
disputes." She finding her husband was satisfied, went in-

296 FIFTH DAY.

stantly about it, and they all three supped cheerfully together.
Dioneus having finished his novel, which was the less laughed
at by the ladies, not for any want of mirth, but on account
of their modesty ; and the queen knowing that there was
an end of the novels of her day, arose, and taking the crown
from her own head placed it upon Eliza, saying, " Madam,
now it is your business to command." Eliza, taking upon
herself the honour, gave the same orders to the master of the
household, as had been done in the former reigns, with regard
to what was necessary during the administration ; she then
said, " We have often heard that many people by their ready
wit and smart repartees, have not only blunted the keen satire
of other persons, but have also warded off some imminent
danger. Then, as the subject is agreeable enough, and may
be useful, I will that to-morrow's discourse be to that effect :
namely, of such persons as have returned some stroke of wit
which was pointed at them; or else by some quick reply, or
prudent foresight, have avoided either danger or derision."
This was agreeable to the whole assembly, and the queen now
gave them leave to depart till the hour for supper : at that
time they were called together, and sat cheerfully down as
usual. When supper was over, Emilia was ordered to begin
a dance, and Dioneus to sing. But he, attempting to sing
what the queen disapproved, she said, with a good deal of
warmth, " Dioneus, 1 will have none of this ribaldry ; either
sing us a song fit to be heard, or you shall see that I know
how to resent it." At these words he put on a more serious
countenance, and began the following :

SONG

I

Cupid, the charms that crown my fair
Have made me slave to you and her.

The lightning of her eyes,

That darting through my bosom flies,
Doth still your sov'reign power declare :

At your control
Each grace binds fast my vanquish'd soul.

II

Devoted to your throne
From henceforth I myself confess,
Nor can I guess

If my desires to her be known ;
Who claims each wish, each thought so far.
That all my peace depends on her.

:

NOVEL X. 297

III

Then haste, kind godhead, and inspire
A portion of your sacred fire;

To make her feel

That self-consuming zeal,
The cause of my decay,
That wastes my very heart away,

When Dioneus had made an end, the queen called for seve-
ral other songs : his nevertheless, was highly commended ; af-
terwards, great part of the evening being spent, and the heat
of the day sufficiently damped by the breezes of the night,
she ordered them all to go and repose themselves till the fol-
lowing day.

2«JS

THE DECAMERON.

THE SIXTH DAY.

The moon had now lost her brightness in the midst of the
heavens, and the world become illuminated by the appearance
of the new day, when the queen arose with all her company,
and thev walked forth upon the dewy grass, to some distance
from that little eminence, holding various arguments by the
way concerning their late novels, and making themselves
merry with reciting some of the most entertaining over again :
till at last, the heat growing excessive, as the sun was mount-
ed to a greater height, they turned back, and ( came to the
palace ; where, the tables being set forth against their return,
and every part of the house bedecked with sweet smelling
flowers, they sat down to dinner- When that was over, and
after singing a few songs, some went to sleep, and others played
at chcss°; whilst Dioneus and Lauretta sang the song of Troi-
lus and Cressida. At the usual hour they met by the foun-
tain's side, when the queen laid her first commands upon
Philomena, who readily began as follows :—

THE SIXTH DAY.

NOVEL I.

A certain knight offers a lady to carry her behind him, and to tell
her a pleasant story by the way ; but, doing it with an ill grace,
she chose rather to walk on foot.

Ladies, as stars are the ornaments of heaven, flowers of the
spring, and as the hills are most beautiful when planted with
trees, so a smart and elegant turn of expression is the em-
bellishment of discourse ; and the shorter the better, especially
in women. But true it is, whether it be owing to our unhappy-
dispositions, or some particular enmity which the stars bear to
our sex, there is hardly any among us that knows when it is
proper to speak, or to understand what is said as we ought,
which is a great disgrace to us all. But as Pampinea has
before spoken to this point more largely, I shall say nothing
farther; but only shew, by the genteel manner of a lady's
silencing a knight, the great beauty of a word or two spoken
in due time and place.

You may all of you have heard, that there lived in our city,
not a great while ago, a lady of much worth and wit, whose
good qualities deserve not that her name should be concealed;
she was called then Madam Oretta, and was the wife of Signor
Geri Spina ; who being by chance in the country, as we are
now, and going to take a walk along with some ladies and
knights, who had dined at her house the day before, from one
place to another ; and their journey seeming a little tedious,
as they were on foot, one of the knights, who happened to be
on horseback, said, that if she pleased he would carry her
part of the way, and entertain her with one of the best stories
in the world. " Sir," she replied, " I should be extremely

300 SIXTH DAY.

obliged to you for it." The knight, who told a story with as
ill a grace as he wore a sword, began his tale, which was really
a good one ; but by frequent repetitions, and beginning over
again to say it better, by mistaking also one name for another,
and relating every thing in the worst manner, he mangled
it to that degree, tbat he made the lady quite sick: and being
able to bear it no longer, seeing him set fast, nor likely soon
to extricate himself, she said pleasantly to him, " Sir, your
horse has a very uneasy trot, I beg you would set me down."
The knight, who took a hint more readily than he told a story,
made a laugh of it, and turned his discourse to something else ;
leaving what he had sorrily begun, and worse conducted, with-
out offering to end it.

301

THE SIXTH DAY

NOVEL II.

Cisti the baker, by a smart reply, makes Signor Geri Spina sen-
sible of an unreasonable request.

The whole company was pleased with what Oretta had said ;
when the queen pointed next to Pampinea, who spoke thus: —
It is beyond my capacity to determine whether nature be
more in fault, when she joins a generous soul to a homely per-
son ; or fortune in dooming a body, graced with a noble spirit,
to a mean condition of life ; as was the case of a citizen of
ours, named Cisti, as well as of many others. For this man,
though he had truly a great spirit, yet fortune made him no
better than a baker. For my part, I should quarrel both
with nature and fortune did I not know nature to be absolutely
wise, and that fortune hath a thousand eyes, although fools
have described her as blind. I suppose therefore, that both,
being truly wise and judicious, act as we ourselves often do ;
who, uncertain of what may happen, for our convenience often
bury our most valuable treasure in the meanest places of our
houses, as the least liable to suspicion ; from whence we can
fetch them in time of need, and where they have continued
more secure than they would have been in the best chamber
of the house. So these two ministers of the world do many
times hide their most precious blessings under the cover of
some mean employ, to the end that, drawing them from thence
when need requires, they may appear with greater lustre ;
which was plainly shewed, although in a small matter, by our
baker Cisti, to the apprehension of Signor Geri Spina, whom
the story of Madam Oretta, who was his wife, brings fresh
into my mind ; as I shall relate in a very short novel. You
2d

302 SIXTH DAY.

must know then that Pope Boniface, with whom this same Sig-
nor Geri was in great esteem, having' an occasion to send
amhassadors to Florence about some particular business, who
being entertained at this Geri Spina's house, and employed
with him in the said pope's negotiation ; it happened, what-
ever was the reason, that they passed on foot every morning
by the church of St. Maria Ughi where Cisti the baker dwelt,
and followed his trade : who, though fortune had given him
but a mean employ, yet in this respect she had been kind to
him — that he had grown very rich in it ; and without hav-
ing any desire to leave it for a better, lived very generously
among his neighbours, having every thing in plenty, the best
wine especially, both red and white, that the country could
afford. Now, he seeing them, walk daily by his door, and
supposing, as the season was sultry, that it would be esteemed
a kindness, to let them drink some of his fine white wine ;
but regarding at the same time the disparity of their different
stations, he would not presume to invite them ; but thought
of a way whereby Signor Geri might be induced of his own
accord to taste it: having a white frock on therefore, with an
apron before him, which bespoke him rather a miller than a
baker, every morning about the time that he supposed they
should come that way, would he order a bucket full of fair wa-
ter to be brought, and a decanter of wine, with a couple of
beakers as bright as crystal, to be set before him ; when seat-
ing himself down at his door, and clearing first his mouth and
throat, he would take a draught or two just as they were
going past, with a gust sufficient to cause an appetite almost
in a man that was dead.

Signor Geri observing this once or twice, said the third time,
"What say you ? Is your wine good, Master Cisti ?" Restart-
ing up, replied, "Yes sir; but how can I convince you unless
you taste." Signer Geri, whom either the heat of the wea-
ther, or his extraordinary fatigue, or perhaps the relish
with which he saw the other drink, had rendered thirsty,
turned with a smile upon the embassadors, and said, " Gen-
tlemen, we may as well drink of this honest man's wine, per-
haps it is such that we shall not need to repent." Accord-
ingly they went together to Cisti, who, ordering seats to be
brought out of his bakehouse, prayed them to sit down, saying
to their servants, who offered to wash the glasses, " Friends,
go get you gone ; leave this to me. I am no worse a skinker
than a baker, and stay you ever so long you shall not taste a
drop." Washing then four neat glasses, and ordering a fresh
decanter to be brought, he filled round to Signor Geri and the
ambassadors, who thought it the best wine they had tasted for a
long time ; and having highly commended it, they called to
drink with him most mornings during their stay. At length
having dispatched their business, and being about to depart,

NOVEL II. 303

Signor Geri made an entertainment for them, to which he
invited a great part of the most eminent citizens, and Cisti
amongst the rest, who could by no means be persuaded to go.
Signor Geri then ordered one of his servants to fetch a flask
of Cisti's wine, and to fill half a glass round to all the company
at the first table. The servant (offended, as we may suppose
that he had never been able to get a taste of it) took a very
large bottle ; which as soon as Cisti saw he said, " Friend,
Signor Geri never sent thee to me." Which the servant af-
firming over and over, and yet meeting with no other reply,
he returned to his master, and told him. Signor Geri then
said, "Go back, and tell him that I did send thee, and if he
makes the like answer again, ask him whither he thinks I
should send thee." The servant went again, and said, " Most
assuredly, Signor Geri my master has sent me to you." Cisti
made answer, "I tell thee friend, it is impossible." — " Then,"
quoth the servant, " whither do you think he sent me?" He
replied, "To the river Arno ;" which when the fellow reported
to Signor Geri, his eyes were immediately opened and he said,
"Let me see what bottle it was which you carried to him."
On seeing it, he added, "Now, trust me, Cisti spoke^ truth."
Reprimanding him then severely, he ordered him to take a more
sizable vessel ; which as soon as Cisti saw, he said, " Why now
I am certain that he sent thee to me ;" and filled it very
readily for him. That day also he had a cask filled with the
same wine, which he sent to Signor Geri's house, and going
himself after it, he thus addressed him : — " Sir, I would not
have you think that I was any way startled at the sight of
the great bottle this morning ; but as I imagined you had
forgotten what I had endeavoured to intimate to you for several
days past with my little decanters ; namely, that mine is no
wine for servants ; so I only did it to remind you again of
the same thing. But meaning to be steward no longer, I
have now brought my whole store ; dispose of it as you please."
Signor Gsri was extremely thankful for his most valuable
present, and ever afterwards esteemed him as his most inti-
mate friend.

304

THE SIXTH DAY.

NOVEL III.

Madam Nonna de' Pulci silences the Bishop of Florence, by a
smart reply to an unseemly piece of raillery.

Pampinea had now made an end, Cisti's answer and gene-
rosity being highly commended, when the queen gave her orders
to Lauretta, who began as follows : —

Most gracious ladies, Pampinea, the other day, and Philo-
mena now, have both justly touched upon our little merit, as
well as the beauty of repartees : therefore, as it is needless
to say any thing farther upon that head, I shall only remind
you, that your words should be such as only to nip or touch
the hearer, like the sheep's nibbling on the grass, and not as
the dog bites ; for in that case it is no longer wit, but foul scur-
rility. This was excellently well set forth, both in what was
said by Oretta, and in the reply of Cisti. It is true however,
that if it be spoken by way of answer, and bites a little too
keenly ; yet if the person who answers in that manner were
stung first, he is the less to blame. Therefore you should be
cautious both how, when, and with whom you jest; which not
being enough attended to by a certain prelate of ours, he met
with a sharper bite than he had given, as I shall shew you in
a very short novel. —

When Signor Antonio d'Orso, a most wise and worthy per-
son, was bishop of Florence, a certain gentleman of Cata-
lonia, marshal to King Robert, happened to come thither ;
who, having a good person, and being a great admirer of the
fair sex, took a particular liking to a lady of that city, who was
niece to the bishop's brother: and understanding that her
husband, though of a good family, was most abominably sordid
and covetous, he agreed to give him five hundred florins or

NOVEL III. 305

gold to let him pass one night with her. Accordingly, he got
so many pieces of silver gilt, which he gave to him, and then
obtained his desire contrary to her will and knowledge. This
being discovered soon afterwards, the wretch became the com-
mon jest and scorn of mankind ; but the bishop, like a wise
man, seemed to know nothing of the matter. And beino-
often in company with the marshal, it happened on St. John's
day, that as they were riding side by side through the city
viewing the ladies all the way, that the bishop cast his eye
upon one, named Nonna de' Pulci, then newly married, and
who is since dead of the plague, cousin also to Alesso Rinucci
whom you all knew : the lady, besides her great beauty, was
endowed with a generous spirit, and spoke pertinently and well.
Shewing her therefore, to the marshal, as soon as they came
nearer to her, he laid his hand upon the marshal's shoulder
and said, " Madam, what do you think of this gentleman ?
Could he make a conquest over you or not ?" This seemed
to touch her honour, or at least she thought it might give
some persons present a worse opinion of her. Without ever
thinking then, how to clear herself of such a charge, but resol-
ving to return like for like, she replied, " Perhaps he might
my lord ; but then I should like to be paid with good money/'
This touched them both to the quick; the one as doing a very
dishonourable thing to the bishop's relation ; the other
as receiving in his own person the shame belonging to his
brother. And they rode away, without so much as looking at
one another, or exchanging a word together all the day after.
Very justly, therefore, did this lady bite the biter.

303

THE SIXTH DAY.

NOVEL IV.

Chichibio, cook to Currado Gianfiliazzi, by a sudden reply, which
he made to his master, turns his wrath into laughter ; and so
escapes the punishment with which he had threatened him.

Lauretta being silent, Neiphile was ordered to follow, which
she did in this manner: —

Though ready wit and invention furnish people with
words proper to their different occasions ; yet sometimes does
fortune, an assistant to the timorous, tip the tongue with a
sudden, and yet a more pertinent reply than the most mature
deliberation could ever have suggested, as I shall now briefly
relate to you. Currado Gianfiliazzi, as most of you have
both known and seen, was always esteemed a gallant and
worthy citizen, delighting much in hounds and hawks ; to
omit his other excellencies, as no way relating to our present
purpose. Now he, having taken a crane one day with his
hawk, and finding it to be young and fat, sent it home to his
cook, who was a Venetian, and called Chichibio, with orders
to prepare it for supper. The cook, a poor simple fellow, truss-
ed and spitted it, and when it was nearly roasted, and began
to smell pretty well, it chanced that a woman in the neigh-
bourhood called Brunetta, with whom pie was much enamour-
ed, came into the kitchen, and being taken with the high
savour, earnestly begged of him to give her a leg. He re-
plied very merrily, singing all the time, " Madam Brunetta,
you shall have no leg from me." Upon this she was a good
deal nettled ; and said, " As I hope to live, if you do not give it
me, you need nerer expect any favour more from me." The
dispute at length, was carried to a great height between them ;
when, to make her easy, he was forced to give her one of the

NOVEL IV. .307

legs. Accordingly the crane was served up at supper, with
only one leg ; Currado having a friend along with him. Cur-
rado wondered at this, and sending for the fellow, he deman-
ded what was become of the other leg. He very foolishlv
replied, and without the least thought, " Sir, cranes have only
one leg." Currado, in great wrath, said, " What the devil
does the man talk of? Only one leg! Thou rascal, dost thou
think I never saw a crane before?" Chichibio still persisted
in his denial, saying. " Believe me, Sir, it is as I say, and I
will convince you of it whenever you please, by such fowls
as are living." Currado was willing to have no more words,
out of regard to his friend; only he added, "As thou undertakest
to shew me a thing which I never saw or heard of before, J am
content to make proof thereof to-morrow morning ; but I vow
and protest, if I find it otherwise, I will make thee remember
it the longest day thou hast to live." Thus there was an
end for that night, and the next morning Currado, whose pas-
sion would scarcely suffer him to get any rest, arose betimes,
and ordered his horses to be brought out, taking Chichibio along
with him toward a river where he used early in the morning
to see plenty of cranes : and he said, " We shall soon see
whether you spoke truth or not, last night." Chichibio
finding his master's wrath not at all abated, and that he was
now to make good what he had asserted, nor yet knowing how
to do it, rode on first with all the fear imaginable : gladly
would he have made his escape, but he saw no possible means ;
whilst he was continually looking about him, expecting every
thing that appeared, to be a crane with two feet. But being
come near to the river, he chanced to see, before any body
else, a number of cranes, each standing upon one leg, as they
use to do when they are sleeping ; whereupon, shewing them
quickly to his master, he said, " Now Sir, you yourself
may see that J. spoke nothing but truth, when I said that
cranes have only one leg; look at those there if you please."
Currado, beholding the cranes, replied, " Yes, sirrah ! but
stay a while, and I will shew thee that they have two." Then
riding something nearer to them, he cried out, u S hough !
shough !" which made them set down the other foot, and af-
ter taking a step or two, they all flew away. When Currado,
turning to him, said, " Well, thou lying knave, art thou now
convinced that they have two legs?" Chichibio quite at his
wits end, and knowing scarcely what he said himself, sud-
denly made answer, " Yes sir ; but you did not shout out
to that crane last night, as you have dene to these ; had you
called to it in the same manner, it would have put down the
other leg, as these have now done." This pleased Currado
so much, that turning all wrath into mirth and laughter, he
said, " Chichibio, thou sayest right, I should have done so
indeed." By this sudden and comical answer, Chichibio es-
caped a sound drubbing, and made peace with his master

303

THE SIXTH DAY.

NOVEL V.

Foi ese da Rabatta and Giotto the painter, coming from Mugello,
laugh at the meanness of each other's appearance.

The ladies were much diverted with Chichibio's reply, when
Pamphilus by the queen's order, delivered himself to this ef-
fect : —

As it often happens that fortune hides, under the meanest
trades in life, the greatest virtues, which has been proved by
Pampinea : so are the greatest geniuses found frequently
lodged by nature in the most deformed and misshapen bo-
dies, which was verified in two of our own citizens, as I am
now going to relate. For the one, who was called Forese
da Rabatta, being a little deformed mortal, with a fiat Dutch
face, worse than any of the family of the Baronci, yet was he
esteemed by most men a repository of the civil law. And the
other, whose name was Giotto, had such a prodigious fancy,
that there was nothing in nature, the parent of all things, but
he could imitate it with his pencil so well, and draw it so like,
as to deceive our very senses, imagining that to be the very
thing itself which was only his painting: therefore, having
brought that art again to light, which had lain buried for many
ages, under the errors of such as aimed more to captivate
the eyes of the ignorant, than to please the understandings
of those who were really judges; he may be deservedly
called one of the lights and glories of our city, and the rather
as being master of his art, notwithstanding his modesty
would never suffer himself to be so esteemed : which honour,
though rejected by him, displayed itself in him with the great-
er lustre, as it was so eagerly usurped by others less know-
ing than himself, and by many also who had all their know-

NOVEL V. 309

ledge from him. But though his excellence in his profession
was so wonderful, yet as to his person and aspect he had no
way the advantage of Signor Forese. To come then to my
story : These two worthies had each his country-seat at Mu-
gello, and Forese being gone thither in the vacation time,
and riding upon an unsightly steed, chanced to meet there with
Giotto, who was no better equipped than himself, when they re-
turned together to Florence. Travelling slowly along, as they
were able to go no faster, they were overtaken by a great shower
of rain, and forced to take shelter in a poor man's house,
who was well known to them both ; and as there was no ap-
pearance of the weather's clearing up, and each being de-
sirous of getting home that night, they borrowed two old
rusty cloaks, and two rusty hats, and they proceeded on their
journey. After they had gotten a good part of their way,
thoroughly wet, and covered with dirt and mire, which their
two shuffling steeds had thrown upon them, and which by no
means improved their looks, it began to clear up at last, and
they, who had hitherto said but little to each other, now
turned to discourse together ; whilst Forese, riding along
and listening to Giotto, who was excellent at telling a story,
began at last to view him attentively from head to foot, and
seeing him in that wretched dirty pickle, without having any
regard to himself, he fell a laughing, and said, " Do you
suppose Giotto, if a stranger were to meet with you now,
who had never seen you before, that he would imagine you to
be the best painter in the world, as you really are ?" Giotto
readily replied, " Yes sir, I believe he might think so, if
looking at you at the same time, he would ever conclude
that you had learned your A, B, C." At this Forese was sen-
sible of his mistake, finding himself well paid in his oWn

3J0

THE SIXTH DAY.

NOVEL VI.

Michael Scalza proves to certain young' gentlemen, that the family
of the Baronci is the most honourable of any in the world,
and luins a supper by it.

The ladies continued laughing at Giotto's smart reply, when
the queen commanded Flammetta to follow, which she did to
this purpose : —

The Baronci being mentioned by Pamphilus, though per-
haps you may not know them so well as himself, puts me in
mind of a story, in which their great nobility is plainly ex-
hibited, without deviating from our present subject, and there-
fore I choose to relate it. There lived not long since in our
city, a young gentleman called Michael Scalza, who was one
of the most agreeable and pleasant companions in the world;
for which reason his company was much courted by all the
young people of Florence, whenever they could be favoured
with it. Now he was one day with some friends at Mount
Ughi, when the question happened to be started, Which was
the noblest and most ancient family in Florence ? Accordingly
one named the Uberti, another the Lamberti, some preferring
one, and some another, according to their different humours
and interests ; upon which Scalza smiled and said, " You are
all mistaken ; the most noble, as well as the most ancient
family, I do not say in Florence only, but in the whole world,
is that of the Baronci ; in this all philosophers are agreed,
and every one that knows them as well as myself. And lest
you should think that I speak it of some other family of that
name, I tell you that I mean the Baronci, our neighbours, that
live by great St. Maria." When the young gentlemen, who

NOVEL VI. 311

expected he would have mentioned some other, heard this
family named, they made the greatest jest ot it that could
be, and said, " You impose any thing in the world upon us, as
if nobody knew the Baronci but yourself." " Indeed," quotli
he, "I do not, I speak nothing but what is truth, and if there
is any among you that dares lay a wager of a supper for six
of his friends, upon that head, I will stand to it ; nay more
than that, I will be set down by the judgment of any person
whom you shall nominate." Hereupon a young spark, called
Neri Vannini, said, " I am your man." It was also agreed
that one Piero, a Florentine, in whose house they were, should
be judge. Accordingly the case was stated to him, whilst the
whole company bore hard upon Scala, making themselves
very merry with his expected treat. Piero then, who was a
good, sensible man, having heard Neri's story, turned to Scalza
and said, " Well, how do you make good your assertion ?"
Scalza replied, " I prove it by such arguments, that not yourself
only, but even my antagonist shall confess to be just. You
know that the more ancient any family is, the more noble it
is deemed ; this was agreed among us at the beginning. I
have then only to shew, in order to gain my question, that the
Baronci family is the most ancient of all others. You must
understand therefore, that they were formed when nature
was in her infancy, and before she was perfect at her work,
and that the rest of mankind were all created aftei wards.
To convince you of this, do but examine the figures of one
and the other, you will find art and proportion in the last,
whereas the first are rough drawn and imperfect : among them
you will see one with a long narrow face, another with a pro-
digious broad one ; one that is flat-nosed, another with a
nose half an ell long; this has a long hooked chin, that one
eye bigger and set lower down than the other. In a word,
their faces resemble, for all the world, what children make,
when they first learn to draw. Nature, then you will allow,
was in its first and earliest state, when they were created, con-
sequently they are the most ancient of all others, and there-
fore the most noble." Both Piero, who was to determine, and
Neri, who had wagered the treat, and the whole company like-
wise, on hearing this pleasant argument, agreed that Scalza
was in the right, and that the Baronci were the noblest and
most ancient people in the whole world. Well therefore
was it observed by Pamphilus, in describing the ugliness and
deformity of Signor Forese, that if possible, he had a worse
person than any of the Baronci.

312

THE SIXTH DAY.

NOVEL VII.

Madam Philippa being surprised with her gallant by her husband;
is accused and tried for it, but saves herself by a quick reply ;
and has the laws moderated for the future.

Scalza's argument to prove the nobility of the Baronci made
them all very merry, when the queen turned to Philostratus,
who began in this manner : —

It is a good thing, most worthy ladies, to be able to speak
well, and to the purpose ; but I hold it best of all to know
how to do it when need requires : as was the case of a lady
of whom 1 am going to treat, who escaped an ignominious
death by this means, as you shall hear. In the territories of
the town of Prato, there was formerly a most severe law,
which without any distinction, condemned all such women as
were detected by their husbands of adultery, to be burnt.
Whilst this law was in force, it chanced that a beautiful
young lady, named Philippa, was surprised by her husband
with her gallant, a young gentleman of the same city, in her
own chamber. Rinaldo de' Pugliesi, for that was the hus-
band's name, was so provoked at this, that he could scarcely
refrain from putting them both to death, and forbore
it only out of regard to his own life ; but yet he resolved,
that the law should effect what did not so properly belong to
himself — the death of his wife. Therefore, having procured
sufficient testimony to prove the fact, he went and had her
summoned before the court. The lady, who was of an un-
daunted spirit, resolved to make her appearance, contrary to
the judgment of her friends, choosing to die by a resolute con-
fession of the truth, rather than live basely in exile by
making her escape ; or by denying it, to shew herself un-

\

NOVEL VII. 313

worthy of that lover with whom she had this intrigue. Being
brought then before the lord-pro vost, attended by a great num-
ber of friends, and encouraged all the way to deny it, she
demanded of him, with a steady countenance, what he had to
say to her. The provost, seeing her genteel deportment
and greatness of spirit, began to pity her, fearing lest she
should confess something or other, which would force him, for
the sake of his honour, to condemn her, whilst she ceased not
all the time to inquire the reason of her being brought thi-
ther. When he said to her, " Madam, here is Rinaldo your
husband, who affirms that he has taken you in adultery, and
insists that I pronounce sentence of death upon you, according
to the law in that case ; but this I cannot do unless you your-
self confess it, therefore take care what answers you make,
and tell me if this acusation of his be true." The lady, with-
out shewing the least concern, replied, " My lord, it is true ;
I will never deny it ; but you must know, at the same time,
that laws ought to be universal, and made with the consent of
those persons whom they concern. Now in this law of yours
it was quite otherwise ; for only we poor women are bound by
it, and yet not one of us ever consented to, or were even con-
sulted about the making of it. I call it then a most iniqui-
tous law ; and if you are disposed to take away my life for
the breach of it, I have noway to do myself justice, but by
protesting in the face of this court, and before the whole
world, against the partiality of your proceedings." All the
principal people of the city were present to hear this process,
who hearing her plead her own cause in that manner, cried
out, "That there was some reason in what she said ;" and
before they broke up, the law, by the interposition of the lord-
provost, was moderated so far as to include only such women
who wronged their husbands for the sake of money. On this
Rinaldo departed from the court, confused at his disap-
pointment, whilst she, saved as it were out of the fire, re-
turned victorious to her own house.

2e

314

THE SIXTH DAY.

NOVEL VIII.

Fresco advises his niece, that if she could not endure to look at
any disagreeable people, she should never behold herself.

Philostratus's novel had put the ladies into some confusion, as
appeared hy their blushes, when the queen turned immediately
to Emilia, and desired her to begin ; who starting up as
if she had been raised out of her sleep, spoke to this effect : —
" I have been so long lost in thought, that I shall now
obey the queen, by relating a much shorter novel than I
should have done probably, had I more time to recollect my-
self. This will be concerning the foolish affectation of a cer-
tain young lady, which was very wittily reproved by her uncle,
if she had but sense enough to have taken it. An honest
man named Fresco da Celatico, had a niece called cut of
fondness, Cesca, i. e. for Francesca, who, though her person
was not amiss (she was no angel neither!) yet she thought
so highly of herself, that she was perpetually finding fault
both with men, women, and in short, every thing that she saw,
without having the least regard to herself all the time : for
by that means, she became such a disagreeable, fretful, and
tiresome creature, that nothing was ever like her, and so
proud withal, that had she been of the blood royal of France,
she could not have been more so. And if she walked along
the street at any time, she did nothing but toss up her nose
all the way, as if every one that she either saw or met was of-
fensive to her. To omit the rest of her troublesome ill-con-
ditioned ways, it chanced one day, that she came home, pout-
ing extremely with pride and affectation, and sitting down by
him, he said to her, " Cesca, as this is a holiday, what is the

NOVEL VIII. 315

reason you come home so soon ?" When she, fit to die away
with her airs, replied, " I am returned so early, because I
could not have believed there had been such a number of
frightful people, both men and women, in the country, as I
have met with to-day ; there was not one that I could like ;
nor can any woman have the aversion to disagreeable peo-
ple that I have ; it is to avoid seeing them therefore, that I
am come so soon." Fresco then, who could no longer brook
her inordinate affectation, replied roughly to her, " Niece,
if disagreeable persons displease you so much, and you are wil-
ling to be at ease, be sure you 'never look at yourself" She
however, as empty as a pithless cane, though she thought
herself as wise as Solomon, understood her uncle's meaning
no more than a goose; but said, she would look at herself
as well as other people. Thus she remained in her ignorance,
and for what I know, still continues in the same state.

316

THE SIXTH- DAY.

NOVEL IX.

Guido Cavalcanti genteelly reprimands the folly of some Florentine
gentlemen, who came zmaivares upon him.

The queen, perceiving that Emilia had done her novel, and
that only herself remained, excepting him whose privilege it
was to speak last, began as follows : —

Though you have robbed me of two of my novels, one of
which I designed should have served me to-day ; yet have
I one left behind still , which contains something in the con-
clusion, as pertinent perhaps, as anything that hath yet
been spoken. — Know then, that formerly many good customs
prevailed in our city, none of which are now remaining, thanks
be to avarice, the attendant of our growing wealth, which
has long discarded them. This, amongst others, was one — that
in divers parts of the town, the best families in the neighbour-
hood would meet together, and compose a society, consisting
of a certain number of persons, taking care always to ad-
mit only such as were able to bear the expense of it. Every
one entertained in his turn, at which time they would shew
honoiu* to divers gentlemen and strangers, upon their arrival
in our city, and to many of the most worthy citizens, by
inviting them to those assemblies : once a year also, at least,
they would be dressed all alike, and they often rode in pro-
cession through the city, when they performed their tilts, and
other martial exercises, especially on the great festival days,
or when the news of some great victory had reached the city.
Amongst these societies of gentlemen, there was one, of which
Signor Betto Brunelleschi was the principal, who was de-
sirous always of procuring Guido Cavalcanti to be one of
their body, and not without reason ; for, besides his being one

NOVEL IX. 317

of the best logicians in the world, as well as natural phi-
losopher, for which they had no great regard; he was a most
polite, good-natured man, as well as an excellent companion,
and nobody knew what belonged to a gentleman better than
himself: besides this, he was very rich, and ready always to
reward merit wherever he found it. But Signor Betto was
never able to draw him into their assembly, which they all
attributed to his speculative way of life ; and because he was
said to hold some of the Epicurean doctrines, the vulgar
used to report, that all this study of his was only to learn
whether there was a God or not. One day he was passing
from St. Michael's church, along by the Ademari to St
John's, which was his usual walk ; and the large marble
tombs, such as are now at St. Reparata's were then about the
church: and he chanced to be amongst them, the church
door being shut, when Betto and his company came riding
through the square ; who getting sight of him, spurred their
horses, and came up to him before he perceived them ;
whilst one of them said, " Guido, thou refusest to be of
our society : but when thou hast found out that there is
no God, what good will it have done thee?" He, seeing him-
self surrounded, immediately replied, " Gentlemen, you may
use me as you please in your own territories;" and laying
his hand upon one of the arches, he leaped nimbly over it,
and so made his escape. They looked, like people confound-
ed, at each other, saying, that what he had spoken was
without any meaning ; for that they had no more to do there
than any other persons, nor Guido less than themselves.
Signor Betto then turned to them, and said, " It is your-
selves gentlemen, that are void of understanding ; for he has
very worthily, and in few words, said the severest thing in the
world to us, whether you understood it or not : consider
then, these arches are the abodes of the dead, and which he
calls our territories, to shew us that we, and all other people
as ignorant and unlearned as ourselves, are compared to
him and other men of letters, worse than dead men : and
therefore, so long as we are here, we may be said to be
upon our own dunghills." — They now all understood what
Guido meant to say, and were a good deal ashamed, and
from that time said nothing more ever to provoke him ; es-
teeming Signor Betto always as a very subtle and sensible man.

2e2

318

THE SIXTH DAY.

NOVEL X.

Friar Onion promises some country people to shew them a feather
from the wing of the angel Gabriel; instead of which lie finds
only some coals, which he tells them are the same that roasted
St. Lawrence.

After they had told all their different stories, and Dioneus
perceived that only himself was left to speak, without wait-
ing for any regular command, he enjoined silence to such as
were commending Guido's deep reply, and thus hegan : —

Though I boast it ladies, as my privilege to relate what
pleases me most ; yet I intend not to-day to depart from the
subject which you have all spoken so well upon; but follow-
ing your footsteps, I shall shew with what a sudden shift a
certain friar, of the order of St. Anthony, most artfully avoid-
ed the disgrace and confusion which two arch young fellows
had prepared for him : and if, to make my story more com-
plete, I spin it out a little in length, I hope it will not be
disagreeable, as the sun is yet in the midst of heaven.

Certaldo, as you have all heard, is a village in the vale of
Elsa, dependent on the state of Florence ; which though
small, was inhabited by many gentlemen and people of sub-
stance. Thither a certain friar, of the order of St. Anthony,
used to go once a year, as he found pretty good pickings, to
receive the contributions of many simple people, and met
with great encouragement always, perhaps not through any
devotion, so much as his name ; for that country was fa-
mous for the best onions in all Tuscany. Now this friar
had a little low person, was red-haired, and of a merry coun-
tenance, as artful a knave too as any in the world : add to
this, that though he was no scholar, yet was he so prompt
and voluble of tongue, that such as knew him not, would
not only have considered him as some great orator, but have

NOVEL X. 319

compared him even to Tully or Quinctilian. He was also a
common gossip-acquaintance to the whole neighbourhood.
Coming thither therefore, in the month of August, accord-
ing to custom, one Sunday morning, when all the honest peo-
ple were met together in the church to hear mass, as soon as
he saw a fit opportunity, he stepped forward and said :

" Gentlemen and ladies, you know it has been a commen-
dable custom with you to send every year to the poor brethren
of our Lord Baron St. Anthony, both of your corn and other
provisions, some more, and some less, according to your seve-
ral abilities and devotions, to the end that our blessed St.
Anthony should be more careful of your oxen, sheep, asses,
swine, and other cattle. Moreover, you are accustomed to
pay, such especially as have their names registered in our
fraternity, a small acknowledgement which we annually re-
ceive, and for which purpose I am now sent by my superior,
namely, our lord abbot, to collect it. Therefore, with the
blessing of God, after nine o'clock, as soon as you shall hear
the bells ring, you may all come to" the church door, when
I shall preach a sermon as usual, and you shall all kiss the
cross ; and besides this, as I know you all to be devoted to
our Lord St. Anthony, I intend as a special favour, to shew
you one of the feathers of the angel Gabriel, which he drop-
ped at the annunciation, in the Virgin's chamber;" and
having made this speech, he returned to mass. Whilst he
was haranguing upon this subject, there were two arch fel-
lows in the church, one named Giovanni del Brao-oniera and
the other Biagio Pizzini, who, after they had laughed together
at the father's relics, although they were his friends and ac-
quaintance, resolved to play him a trick with regard to this
feather ; and understanding that he was to dine that day with
a friend, as soon as they thought he might be sat down at
table, they went to the inn ( where he lodged ; when
Biagio was to keep his man in talk, whilst Giovanni ran-
sacked his wallet to steal this feather, that thev mi<rht see
what he would then say to the people. Now the fnar had
a lad with so many different nick-names and qualities, that
the most fertile imagination was hardly able to describe 'them.
Whilst Father Onion used frequently to jest and say, " My*
rascal has in him nine qualities, if any one of which belonged
either to Solomon, Aristotle, or Seneca, it would baffle and
confound all their philosophy, and all their virtue. You
may suppose then what sort of creature he must be, that
has nine such, without either philosophy or virtue to counter-
balance." Being asked what those nine qualities were
and having put them into a kind of rhyme, he answered

" Forgetfulness, lying, and lewdness ;

Filching, facing, and hastiness ;

Sloth, gracelessness, and extravagance.

320 SIXTH DAY.

" Besides these, he has also many others, and one in particu-
lar I cannot help laughing at, which is, that he is for taking
a wife wherever he goes : and having a great black greasy
beard, he is persuaded that all women must fall in love with
him; or should they take no notice of him, he will be sure
to run after them. But yet he is a notable fellow to me in
one respect, that if any body has a secret to communicate,
he will come in for his share of it ; and should any one ask
me a question, he is so fearful that I should not know how to
make an answer, that he will be sure to say, Yes, or No,
before me, just as he thinks most proper." But to return
to our story. This fellow, Friar Onion left at the inn, with a
particular charge to see that nobody meddled with any thing
belonging to him, especially his wallet, because the holy re-
lics were contained therein. But the man, whose inclina-
tions stood more for the kitchen, as soon as his master was
gone, went down thither, where he found a fat, dirty, ill-fa-
voured kitchen wench ; when falling into discourse toge-
ther, he sat down by the fire-side, though it was in August,
whilst she was busy in cooking, and began to tell her he was
a gentleman, and worth an incredible sum of money ; that
he could do and say wonders, and (without considering that
his own hat was all over grease and dirt ; that his jacket was
nothing but a thousand different patches ; that his breeches
were torn throughout ; and his shoes all( to pieces) he talked
as great as if he had been some lord, saying, that he would
buy her new clothes, and take her out of service, and that
she should partake of his present possessions, as well as fu-
ture fortunes, with a great deal more of that kind of stuff,
mere froth and wind. The two young fellows, finding him
thus engaged, were very well satisfied, supposing half their
work to be done ; and leaving them together, they went up
stairs into the friar's chamber, which was unlocked, when
the first thing they saw was the wallet : this they opened,
and found a cabinet wrapped up in some foldings of fine
taffeta, in which was a parroquet's feather, which they sup-
posed to be the same that he had promised to shew the peo-
ple ; and surely at that time it was easy enough to impo^
upon them in that manner. The eastern luxury had n0
then reached Tuscany, which has since flowed in upon us
to the ruin of our country ; the ancient simplicity still pre_'
vailed ; nor was there a person, so far from seeing, that had
ever heard of such a thing as a parrot. Not a little pleas-
ed at meeting with this feather, they took it away, and that
the box should not be empty, put some coals therein, which
they saw lying in a corner of the chamber ; and wrapping it
up again as before, and making all safe, they walked of;
waiting to see how he would behave, when he found the
coals instead of the feather. The people that were at church

NOVEL X. 321

being told that they were to see the angel's feather, went home
and acquainted all their neighbours, and the news ran from
one to another, so that the moment dinner was over, they all
crowded to the town, in such a manner, that every part was
full, waiting for the sight.

Accordingly, Friar Onion having eat a good dinner, and
taken his nap after it, understanding now that there were
great multitudes expecting him, sent to the servant to come
away with his wallet, and ring to church. The fellow, though
loath to leave his mistress and the fire-side, did as he or-
dered him, and fell to chiming the bells. As soon then as
the people were all assembled, the friar, not perceiving that
any thing had been meddled with, entered upon his discourse,
running over a thousand things proper to his purpose ; and
being come to the shewing of the feather, he began with a
solemn confession, and lighting up, two torches, and gently
unwrapping the silken cover, having first pulled of his cap,
he took out the box, and making some short ejaculations to
the praise and honour of the angel Gabriel, and of that relic,
he opened it. When seeing it full of coals, he could not help
secretly blaming himself, for leaving such a fellow in trust,
who he imagined, had been imposed upon by somebody or
other ; but yet, without so much as changing colour, or shew-
ing the least concern, he lifted up his hands and eyes to hea-
ven, and said, " O God, blessed for ever be thy power and
might!" And shutting the box, he turned again to the peo-
ple, and added, " Gentlemen and ladies, you must all under-
stand, that being very young, I was sent by my superior to
those parts where the sun first appears, with an express com-
mand to inquire into the nature of porcelain, which, though
it cost but little in making affords more profit to others,
than it does to us. For this purpose I embarked at Venice,
and went through Greece ; I proceeded thence, on horse-
back, through the kingdom of Garbo, and through Baldacca ;
afterwards 1 came to Parione, and so to Sardinia. But
what need I mention to you all these places ? I coasted on
still, till I passed the straits of St. George, into Truffia, and
then into Buffia, which are countries much inhabited, and
with great people. From thence into the land of Lying where
I found many of our order, as well as of other religious, who
avoid all labour and trouble, for Heaven's sake ; taking no
care for other people's sufferings, when their own interest
is promoted thereby, and where they spend only uncoined
money. Thence I went to the land of Abruzzi, where the men
and women go upon socks over the mountains, and make them-
selves garments of swine's guts, and where they carried
bread in their staves, and wine in satchels. Pairing from
thence, I came to the mountains of Bacchus, where the wa-
ters all run down hill. Last of all, I arrived in India Pas-

322 SIXTH DAY,

tinaca ; where I swear to you, by the hauit I wear, that I
saw serpents fly, a thing incredible to such as have never seen
it : but I should be loath to lie, and therefore, as soon as I de-
parted thence, I met Maso del Saggio, a great merchant, whom
I found cracking nuts, and selling the shells by retail. Ne-
vertheless, not being able to find what I went to look for,
and being to pass from thence by water, I returned to the
Holy Land ; where, in summer, a loaf of cold bread is worth
fourpence, and the hot is given away for nothing. There I found
the venerable father (blame me not, I beseech you) the pa-
triach of Jerusalem, who out of reverenee to my habit, and
love to our Lord Baron St. Anthony, would have me see all
the holy relics whieh he had in keeping, and which were so
many, that were I to recount them I should never come to an
end : but yet, not to leave you altogether disconsolate,
I shall mention a few. First then, he shewed me a finger of
the holy ghost, as whole and perfect as ever; next a lock
of hair of that seraph which appeared to St. Francis ; with the
paring of a nail of a cherub ; and a rib of the Verbum
Caro, fastened to one of the windows ; some vestments of the
holy catholic faith ; and a few rays of that star which ap-
peared to the wise men ; a viol also of St. Michael's sweat,
when he fought with the devil ; the jaw-bone of St. Lazarus,
and many others. And because I gave him two of the plains
of Mount Morello, in the vulgar edition, and some chapters
del Caprezio, which he had been^ long searching after, he
let me partake of his relics. And, first, he gave me a tooth
of the Sancta Crux ; and a little bottle filled with some of
the sound of those bells which hung in the temple of Solomon ;
a feather also of the angel Gabriel, as I have told you;
with a wooden patten, which the good St. Gherrardo da Villa
Magna used to wear in his travels, and which I have lately given
to Gherrardo di Bonsi, at Florence, who holds it in great ven-
eration. He farther gave me some of the coals on which our
blessed martyr, St. Lawrence was broiled, all which) I devoutly
received, and do now possess. It is true, my superior would not
suffer me to make them public, till he was assured that they
were genuine ; but being now convinced of it by sundry mira-
cles, as well as by letters received from the patriarch, he has
given me leave to shew them ; and which, for fear of trusting
any one with them, I always carry with me. Indeed I have
the angel's feather, for its better preservation, in a wooden box,
and I have St. Lawrence's coals in another, and which are so
like each other, that I have often mistaken them ; and so it has
happened now ; for instead of that with the feather, I have
brought the box which contains the coals. This I would not
have you call an error ; no, I am well assured it was Heaven's
particular will, now I call to mind that two days hence is the
feast of St. Lawrence. Therefore it was ordered that I should

NOVEL X. 323

shew you the most holy coals on which ]jte was broiled, to
kindle in your hearts that true devotion which you ought to
have towards him, and not the feather : approach then, my
blessed children, with due reverence, and uncover your heads with
all due devotion, whilst you behold them. But first I must
acquaint you, that whoever is marked with these coals with the
sign of the cross, may live secure for one whole year, that no
fire shall have any power over him." So, singing a hymn to
the praise of St. Lawrence, he opened the box, and shewed the
coals, which the simple multitude beheld with the utmost zeal
and astonishment, and crowded about him with larger offerings
than usual, entreating to be signed by them. Then taking
the coals in his hand, he began to mark all their white man-
tles, fine jackets, and veils, with the largest crosses that could
be made upon them, affirming, that what was consumed of the
coals in this manner, grew again in the box, as he had fre-
quently experienced. Thus having crossed all the people of
Certaldo to his own great benefit ; by this dexterous device,
he laughed in his sleeve at those who had designed to have
made a jest of him. And they being present at his discourse,
and hearing this sudden shift of his, and how he had set it off to
the multitude, were ready to die with laughter. After the people
were all departed, they went and told him, with all the plea-
sure in the world, what they had done, and returned him his
feather, which served him the following year to as good purpose
as the coals had done that day.

This novel afforded great mirth to the whole company, and
they laughed heartily at the father, his pilgrimage, and holy
relics. Whilst the queen, knowing her reign to be at an end,
took the crown from her own head, and placed it with a smile
upon Dioneus, saying; " It is now time for you to prove what
a task it is to govern women. Be king, therefore, and rule in
such a manner, that in the end, we may have reason to praise
you." Dioneus, accepting the crown, replied merrily, " I doubt
not but you may have often seen a better king among the
chessmen than I shall make ; but yet, if you will obey me, I
will take care you shall have plenty of that, without which no
entertainment is ever thoroughly agreeable ; I mean, that I
will direct according to my own taste and fancy." Calling
then the master of the household, he ordered what should be
done during his own royalty, when he added, " Ladies, we
have had so many subjects already, shewing the several de-
vices and means of human industry, that I am at a loss what
to give you, unless you will accept of the following, namely
concerning such tricks and stratagems, as women either out of
love, or for their own security, have put upon their hus-
bands, whether they have been detected or not. This seemed
not so decent to some of the ladies, and they desired him to
change it. But he replied, " Ladies, I know as well as you

324 SIXTH DAY.

do what the subject is, and all that you can allege will have no
weight with me to make me alter it ; considering that the sea-
son now is such, that, provided we have regard to our actions,
any discourse for a little amusement is allowable. Know you
not, that through the malignity of the times ther judges have
now left their tribunals, the laws both Divine and human are
silent, and every one has leave to do what he thinks necessary
for his own preservation ? Therefore, if we take a little more
liberty than ordinary in our discourse, with no bad intention,
but only to pass away our time in an innocent, inoffensive
manner, I see no room for reflection. Besides, from the very
first day of our meeting we have kept always within the bounds
of decency, and so I hope we shall continue to do. Who is
there also that is unacquainted with your modesty and virtue ?
Which, so far from being shaken by any light discourse, would
be proof even against the terrors of death. And, to tell you
the truth, whoever should see you averse to such little diver-
sions, might suspect that your characters were not so clear
as they should be, and that you refused to join in them for
that reason. Not to mention the little honour you do me, in
first choosing me your king, and then refusing to obey my
commands. Away then with this suspicion, more befitting' base
and wicked dispositions, than such as yours ; and, without fur-
ther hesitation, let every one think of some pleasant story. "

Upon this they agreed that it should be as the king desired ;
and he then gave them leave to depart till supper-time. The
sun was yet a good height, as the novels had been but short ;
therefore, whilst Dioneus, with the other gentlemen, were sat
down to play at tables, Eliza called the other ladies apart, and
said, "Ever since we have been here, have I desired to shew you
to a place not far off, where I believe none of you ever were,
and which is called the Ladies' Valley ; nor have I had an
opportunity before to-day of doing it. As it is yet some hours
till night, if you would choose then to go thither, I dare say
you will be pleased with your walk. The ladies answered,
that they were all willing ; and without saying a word to the
gentlemen, they called one of the women to attend them, and
after a walk of nearly a mile, they came to the Ladies' Valley,
which they entered by a straight path : from whence there is-
sued forth a fine crystal current, and they found it so extremely
beautiful and pleasant, especially at that sultry season, that
nothing could exceed it; and as some of them told me after-
wards, the plain in the valley was as exact a circle as if it had
been described by a pair of compasses, though it seemed ra-
ther the work of nature than art, and was about half a mile in
circumference, surrounded with six mountains of a moderate
height, on each of which was a palace built in form of a little
castle. The descents from these mountains were as regular
as we see in a theatre, when the circle of each landing grows

NOVEL X. 325

gradually less and less, till it Gomes to the bottom. Whilst
that part that looks towards tl : south was planted, as thick
as they could stand together, wr i vines, olives, almonds, cher-
ries, figs, and most other kinc" of fruit-trees ; and on the
northern side were fine plantat ons of oaks, ashes, &:c. so tall
and regular, that nothing could be more beautiful. The vale,
which had only that one entrance, was full of firs, cyprus trees,
laurels, and pines, all placed in such or.ler, as if it had been
done by the direction of some exquisite artist, and through
which little or no sun could penetrate to the ground, which
was covered with a thousand different flowers. But what gave
no less delight than any of the rest, was a rivulet that came
through a valley, which divided two of the mountains, and
running through the vein of a r^ck, made a most agreeable mur-
mur with its fall, appearing as it was dashed and sprinkled
into drops, like so much quicksilver ; which arriving in the
plain beneath, was there received in a fine canal, and running
swiftly to the middle of the plain, formed a basin not deeper
than the breast of a man, which shewed its clear gravelly bot-
tom, with pebbles intermixed, so that any one might see and
count them ; the fishes also appeared swimming up and down
in great plenty, which made it wonderfully pleasant ; whilst
the water that overflowed was received in another little canal,
which conveyed it out of the valley. Hither the ladies all came
together, and after much praisiiig the place, and seeing the
little basin before them, ami that it was very private, they agreed
to bathe. Ordering therefore, their maid to keep watch, and to
let them know if any body was coming, they stripped and
went into it ; and it covered their delicate bodies in like man-
ner as a rose is concealed in a crystal glass. After they had
diverted themselves there for some time with bathing, they
clothed themselves again, and returned at a gentle pace, com-
mending all the way the wonderful beauty of the spot ; and
coming to the palace, they found the gentlemen at play where
they left them. — When Pampinea said merrily to them, "We
have put a trick upon you to-day." "What," says Dioneus,
"do you begin to act before you speak?" — " No sir," quoth
Pampinea. And she told them where they had been, what
sort of a place it was, how far it was off, and what they had
been doing. The king, upon her report, being very desi-
rous of seeing it, ordered supper to be served immediately,
which was no sooner ended, than the gentlemen and their servants
all went to this valley, and having viewed every part, as they
were never there before, they agreed that nothing in the world
ever equalled it. They bathed therefore, and made what
haste they could back, as it grew late, when they found the
ladies' dancing to a song of Flammetta's, which being ended
they were all loud in their praises of this valley. The king
than called to the master of the household, and gave orders,
2 F

326 SIXTH DAY.

that dinner should be served there on the morrow, and beds
carried for such as would choose to rest during the heat of the
day. When this was over, he ordered in candles, wine, and
sweetmeats, and, having refreshed themselves, he bid them
now prepare for a dance ; and Pamphilus, by his appointment,
having made a beginning, his majesty turned to Eliza, and
said pleasantly to her, " Fair lady, you did me the honour of
conferring upon me a crown yesterday ; in return, I fix now
upon you for a song : let it be such an one as is most agree-
able to yourself." She smiled, and saying, with all her heart,
began with a sweet voice the following

SONG.

0 love, could I escape from thee,

1 always would be free.

From early youth I chose

Thy service as a sweet repose,

And all my power to thee consign'd ;

But see, at last,
Thou, cruel tyrant, and unkind,

Hast bound me in thy fetters fast.

O love, &c.

II.

'Tis for a faithless swain,
I languish and complain ;
Nor sighs, nor tears can move
His heart to love.

O love, &c.

III.

The winds, with inauspicious breeze,
Waft my unheeded pray'rs away,
Whilst hourly I decay ;

Yet neither life nor death can please.
Then yield, in pity to my woe,
That he thy bondage too may know.

O love, &c.

327
IV.

Cupid, I humbly ask of thee,
Or grant me this, or set me free ;
This favour, if thou wilt bestow,

My youthful bloom

I shall resume,
And on my face again the rose and lily blow.

0 love, could I escape from thee,

1 always would be free.

Eliza concluded her song with a most piteous sigh ; and
all of them wondered what the words could mean ; but the
king, being in a good temper, called for Tindarus, and bid him
bring out his bagpipe, to which they danced several dances ;
till a good part of the night being spent in that manner, they
gave over, and went to bed.

328

THE DECAMERON.

THE SEVENTH DAY.

There was not a star to be seen in the east, but that alone
which we call bright Lucifer, which yet shone gloriously in
the dawning day ; when the master of the household arose,
and went with the necessary provisions to the Ladies' Val-
ley, to have every thing ready there, according to the king's
command ; and he, being roused by the noise of the carriages,
arose soon afterwards, and had all the company called, when
they began their march just as the sun was appearing above
the earth ; nor did the nightingales and other birds ever seem
to sing with such exquisite harmony as on that morning. Be-
ing ushered on the way by this music, they came to the Ladies'
Valley, where, being saluted by choirs of many others, it ap-
peared to them as if all the birds in the valley joined in con-
cert to rejoice at their arrival. Now viewing it all over again,
it seemed much more delightful than the day before, as the
gaiety of the morning was more conformable to the beauty
of its appearance. After a repast of wine and sweetmeats, not
to be behindhand with the birds, they began to sing, whilst
the valley all around echoed back their songs : and the birds,
unwilling to be outdone, replied in new and ravishing notes.
At the usual hour the table was spread under the shade of the
trees, by the side of that beautiful lake, whilst the whole time
of dining were they amusing themselves with observing the
fishes swimming before them, which afforded various matter
for discourse. When the tables were removed, they turned
again to sing as merrily as before. Whilst beds being pre-
pared in different parts of the valley, made close like pavilions,
the king gave leave for such as desired it to go to sleep, and
the rest had liberty to amuse themselves in the mean time
as usual. At the appointed time they met by the basin side
near where they had 'dined, and sitting down upon carpets,
which were spread there for them, the king desired Emilia
to begin, and she, with a smile, complied.

329

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL I.

Gianni Lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door, and wakes his
wife, who makes him believe it is a spirit, and they both go to
conjure it away with a certain prayer, after which the noise
ceases.

Sir, I had much rather any one else had begun such a fine
subject, as this is, than myself ; but, since it it your pleasure
that I should be first, I am ready to comply. I purpose,
therefore, to relate what may be of use to you for the time to*
come ; for, if other ladies are as timorous with regard to spirits
as I am (although I know nothing certain about them, nor
have I met with any body yet that does), they will here learn
a good and effectual prayer to drive them away.

There dwelt formerly at Florence, in the street of St. Bran-
cazio, a certain wool-comber, called Gianni Lotteringhi, one
more fortunate in his trade than wise in other respects ; for,
being an easy sort of a man, he was frequently chosen a di-
rector of the singers in new St. Maria's church, when they had
their meetings at his house, and other little favours they
shewed him, upon which he greatly valued himself. This
was because he gave considerable alms to the brethren there,
and, in return for shoes, hoods, and cloaks, which they were
daily getting from him, they presented him with the Pater
Noster in the vulgar tongue, the song of St. Alexis, the lamen-
tation of St. Bernard, the hymn of Lady Matilda, with more
such sort of ware, which he set great store by, and kept care-
fully for his soul's health and welfare. Now he had a gay
handsome wife, called Tessa, the daughter of Mannuccio dalla
Cuculia, an artful, sensible woman, who, knowing the simplicity
of her husband, and being in love with Federigo di Neri, ac
agreeable young man, she contrived with her maid that he should
come to see her at a country-house, which Gianni had, at s
2 f 2

330 SEVENTH DAY.

place called Camerata, where she used to pass the summer,
when her good man would come some times thither to sup,
and stay all night, and return in the morning to his prayers
and his shop,

Accordingly, Federigo came and spent that night with her,
when it was agreed between them, not to have always the trou-
ble of sending for him, that, as often as he went backwards
and forwards, he should look to a vineyard, which was by the
side of the house, where he would see an ass's skull fixed upon
one of the poles there, and, when the snout of that was turned
towards Florence, he might safely come, and if the door was
shut, upon knocking three times, she would let him in ; but
if it was turned towards Fiesole, he should then depart, for he
might be assured her husband was with her at that time. By
this contrivance they had frequent meetings. But one
night it happened, that, expecting Federigo to sup with her,
she had provided a couple of fowls, when her husband chanced
to come in late, at which she was greatly concerned, and they
sat down together to a little bacon which she had boiled by
itself, whilst she ordered the maid to carry, in a clean napkin,
the fowls, with some eggs for sauce, and a bottle of wine, into
the garden (to which there was a way without going through
the house, and where she and her lover used frequently to
meet), and to lay them under a certain peach-tree adjoining
to the fields. And her hurry was so great, that she forgot t»
desire the maid to wait till Federigo came, to tell him that
her master was then at home, and that he should take those
things away with him. Therefore Gianni and she being gone
to bed together, and the maid likewise, it was not long before
Federigo came and tapped gently at the door ; which was so
near to their chamber, that Gianni immediately heard it, as
did his wife, who, to prevent any suspicion, pretended to be
asleep. Presently he knocked a second time, at which Gian-
ni was surprised, and began to jog her, saying, " Do not
you hear? Somebody knocks at our door." She, who heard
it better than himself, pretended to wake out of her sleep, and
said, "What is the matter ?" "I tell you," quoth he,
"that I thought somebody was at our door." "At our door!"
she replied, " Alas! do not you know what that is? It is a
spirit, which has terrified me so for several nights past, that
1 have covered myself in bed, and not dared to look about
me again till it was broad day-light." " Go," quoth Gianni,
"why should you be afraid, if it is so ? For, before we went
to bed, I said the Te lucis, and the Intemerata, with divers
other good prayers, and I signed all the bed-posts with the
cross, so that it can have no power over us." The lady now,
to prevent Federigo's taking any offence at her, thought it
best to arise, and let him understand, by some means or other,
that Gianni was there ; therefore she said to her husband

NOVEL I. 331

" What you have done may have secm-ed yourself ; but, for
my part, I shall not think myself so, unless we conjure it
down now you are here." " Conjure it down ! " quoth Gian-
ni; "how is that to be done?" "Oh," said she, "I know
how to do it ; for the other day, when I went to Fiesole for a
pardon, one of those recluses, a most religious lady, seeing
me afraid, taught me a certain prayer, which, she assured me,
she had often tried to good purpose before she was a nun ;
Alas ! I could never have the boldness to make use of it alone ;
but as you are now with me, we will go together, and repeat
it." Gianni declared that he was willing ; and so they went
softly to the door, whilst Federigo began to be uneasy at
waiting there so long. " Now," said she to Gianni, "you
must take care to spit when I desire you." " I will," he re-
plied. She then began her charm, and said, " Spirit, spirit,
as you came, the same way you may go ; but look in the gar-
den, and you will find two fowls, some eggs, and a bottle of
wine, drink of the wine, and go away, and hurt not me nor
my Gianni." Having done this, she said to her husband,
"Spit, Gianni." Accordingly, Gianni spit. Whilst Federigo,
who was without, and heard this, was reused from his jea-
lousy ; and, with all his disappointment, had much ado to
keep from laughir.g out, saying to himself, "I wish you had
spit out your teeth." She repeated it three times, and then
they went to bed. Federigo, who had depended upon sup-
ping with her, and was fasting, hearing this charm, went to
the peach-tree, and found the capons, wine, and eggs, and
carried them home, when he made a good supper ; and being
with her some time after, they were very merry concerning
his enchantment. Now some people tell the story otherwise,
and affirm, that the ass's head was turned towards Fiesole,
but a labourer in the vineyard gave it a turn by chance with
his stick, and so set it the wrong way, which occasioned Fed-
erigo's coming at that time ; whilst she made use of the fol-
lowing words. "Spirit, spirit, go away in God's name; it was
not I, but somebody else, that turned the ass's head. Plague
on him, whoever it was ; but I am here with my husband ; "
and that he went away without his supper. But a certain old
lady, a neighbour of mine, told me, that both stories were true
as she had heard when she was a child, and that the latter
did not happen to Gianni Lotteringhi, but to one called Gianni
di Nello, just such another simpleton as Gianni Lotterin-
ghi. Then pray, ladies, take which charm you like best:
both have been of service to others in these sort of cases, as
you have heard. Try them, and they may be as useful to
yourselves.

;:;?.

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL II.

Peronella puts her gallant into a tub on her husband's coming
home ; which tub', the husband had sold ; she consequently tells
him, that she had also sold it to a person who was then in it to
see if it were sound. Upon this the man jumps out, makes the
husband clean it for him, and carries it home.

Emilia's novel was heard with a great deal of mirth, and the
charm esteemed a very good one, when the king ordered Phil-
ostratus to follow, which he did in the following manner : —

My dear ladies, the tricks which are put upon you by us
men, and especially by your husbands, are so many, that if
ever it happens that a woman does the like, you should not
only be pleased to hear of it, but you yourselves should spread
it every where, to let the men understand, that if they are
wise, you are so too. This must have a good effect, for when
it is known that people are forewarned, noboby would go ab.mt
so soon to deceive them. Who sees not then that this day's
discourse b%eing noised among the men, may not be a restraint
upon them in that respect, when they come to find that }'ou
know how to serve them in the same way ? I will tell y:>u,
therefore, what a woman, though but of mean rank, did to her
husband in a moment, as it were, for her own safety.

It was not long since that a poor man at Naples married a
young handsome wife, named Peronella ; and he being a ma-
son, and she spinning every day, they managed to gain a live-
lihood. Now it happened that a young man in the neigh-
bourhood took a liking to her, and making a discovery of his
inclinations, it was at length agreed between them, that as
the husband went out every morning to his work, he should
watch that opportunity to come to her, which accordingly he
did more than once. But one morning amongst the rest the
honest man being gone abroad, and Gianello Strignario, for

SEVENTH DAY. 333

that was the gallant's name, visiting her as usual, in a little
time the husband returned, though he was not used to come
home till night, and finding the door bolted on the inside, he
knocked, and then said to himself, " Thank Heaven, though
I am poor, I have an honest and careful wife ; for no sooner
am 1 gone out but she makes all fast, that nobody should
come, in my absence, to do us any injury." Peronella, who
knew it was het husband by his knocking, said, " Alas ! Gia-
nello, I am a dead woman ; my husband is returned ; 1 cannot
imagine for what reason, unless it was that he saw you come
in ; but, for God's sake, be it as it will, go you into that tub,
whilst I open the door, and we shall then see what this sudden
return of his means." Accordingly he stepped into it, whilst
she let her husband into the house ; and, putting on an angry
look, she said, " Pray what new fancy is this, your coming
home so early to-day ? As far as I can find, you are disposed
to do no more work, that you have now got your tools with
you. And what are we to live upon in the mean time ? Do
you think I will suffer you to pawn my gown, and what few
clothes I have ? I do nothing but spin night and day, till 1
have worn my fingers to the very stumps, and all will scarcely
find us oil to our lamp. Husband, husband, there is not a
neighbour we have but wonders and makes a jest of me for all
the labour I undergo, and yet you return here, with your
hands in your pockets, when you ought to be at w^ork. Wretch
that I am, in an ill hour was I born, and worse that I happen-
ed to me 2t with you! I could have had a young man that
would have maintained me well, and I refused him for this
creature here, who knows not how to value a good wife. Other
women have a good time with their gallants ; nay, some have
two or three, and make their husbands believe the moon is
made of green cheese ; and because I am virtuous, and have
no regard for such practices, for that reason I am used the
worse ; I see no cause why I should not have my gallants as
well as they. I would have you know, that I have had offers
of money and other things from a number of young gentlemen,
but nothing of that kind could seduce me : no, L was never
the daughter of such a mother, and yet you will come home
when you ought to be at work." The husband then replied,
" My dear do not make yourself uneasy ; I am no stranger to
your merit, and have had farther proof of it this morning : I
did go out to work indeed ; but neither of us then knew that
it wras the feast of St. Galeone, which is to be kept holy, and
for that reason am I returned : nevertheless, I have found
means that we shall have bread for a month, for I have sold
the tub, which you know has been long in our way, to this
man, whom I have brought with me, for five shillings." "This
is so much the worse," answered she; "you that go up and
down, and should know better, to sell a thing for five shillings

NOVEL II. 334

which I, a poor ignorant woman, that keep always withindoors,
considering the room it took up in our house, have now sold to
an honest man for six, and who had just got into it, as you
came to the door, to see whether it was sound." When the hus-
band heard this he was over and ahove pleased, and said to
the man he had brought, " Friend, you may go about your busi-
ness ; you hear it is sold for six, whereas you were to have
given no more than five." "With all my heart," said the
honest man, and away he went. " But," quoth Peronella to
her husband, " as you are now here, even make the agree-
ment with the man yourself." Giannello, who was listening to
what passed between them, hearing these words, came out of the
tub ; and, as if he knew nothing of the husband all the
time, said, "Where is the good woman?" The husband, step-
ping forward, replied, " Here I am ; what do you want !"
"Who are you ?" answered Giannello, " I want the woman
who sold me the tub." "You may make the bargain
with me," quoth the honest man, "for I am her husband."
" Then," said Giannello, " the tub appears to be sound ; but it
seems as if you had kept something of dregs in it, for it is so
crusted all over in the inside, that I cannot scratch off one bit
with my finger-nail; therefore I will not have it till it is made
clean." Peronella replied, " This shall never break the bar-
gain ; my husband will soon clean it for you." The husband
said, with all his heart ; and laying down his iron tools, and
stripping to his shirt, he got a scraper, and going into it with
a candle, he fell to work : and whilst he was thus busied, she
often calling out to him to scrape it well, they took care to
employ their time in a different manner. At length, when
the husband came out of the tub, she said to Giannello, " Here,
honest man, take the candle and see whether it is to your li-
king." He peeped into it, and said it was; gave them the
six shillings, and had it carried to his own house.

33,

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL III.

Friar Rinaldo has an affair with a lady in the neighbourhood^
when he makes the husband believe that he is upon a charm tc<
cure their child of the ivorms.

Philostratus did not speak so covertly at last, but the ladies
took his meaning, though they seemed to laugh at something
else, when Eliza was now ordered to speak, which she did as
follows : — Emilia's conjuring down the spirit brings to mind
another conjuring story, which, though it may not be equal to
her's, yet as I can think of no other I shall relate it. There
lived at Siena a genteel young man, and of a good family,
called Rinaldo, who had long paid his court to a beautiful
lady in the neighbourhood, wife to a certain rich man, but hith-
erto without effect. At length, whatever was the reason, he
turned friar, and, whether that kind of life was to his liking or
not, he persevered in it. Though for a time therefore he had
laid aside his regard for the lady, and other little vanities, yet
ere long he was the same person again, affecting an extraor-
dinary neatness in his dress, and making ballads and
love-songs, whilst he was constantly at balls and other diversions
of that sort. But why am I so particular with this friar ? Are
not they all of the same stamp ? Alas ! to the scandal of a disso-
lute world, they are not ashamed to appear plump and ruddy,
with their garments fine and delicate, whilst they walk along
the streets, not like doves so much as high- crested cocks ; and
what is worse (not to mention their chambers being filled with
pots of rich conserves, perfumes, and other costly compositions,

336 SEVENTH DAY.

with bottles of fine distilled waters and oils, with vessels al-
so of malmsey, and the best Greek wines, so that you would
take them for a perfumer's or a druggist's shop, they are
not ashamed, I say, to have it known they are gouty, suppo-
sing us to be ignorant that abstinence and a coarse diet make
people less corpulent and more healthful : or that constant
fasting and prayer should not cause them to be pale and
out of order; and as if we had never heard that St. Do-
minic and St. Francis thought themselves well clothed
when they had one suit of coarse russet cloth to keep out
the cold, without ever thinking of so many changes of fine ap-
parel for mere show only, and which the simple credulous mul-
titude is obliged to pay for. Our friar then falling into his
former way of living, began to renew his application to
this lady ; who, thinking him perhaps more agreeable than
before, did not much withstand it, only she said, "What! do
the friars give their minds to such things?" He replied,
" Madam, take but my habit off, and I am like other men."
Thus the affair was soon agreed, and they had frequent meet-
ings afterwards. One day, among the rest, he went to visit her,
and finding nobody with her besides a servant-maid, he
sent his companion with her into a pigeon-loft to teach her
some prayers there, whilst he and the lady, with a little infant
of her's, went into the chamber, when she made the door fast ;
but the moment almost this was clone, the husband came, and
called to her to open it. At this she was frightened to death,
and said, " What shall I do ? my husband is here, and will
now find out the cause of our acquaintance." The friar
having his cloak and hood off, replied, " Had I but my
clothes on, we could find an excuse ; but if you open the
door, and he finds me in this manner, we shall both be ruin-
ed." Then said she, " Put on your clothes instantly, and when
you have done take our child in your arms, and attend to what
I shall say, to make your words agree with mine; and leave the
rest to me." Now calling to her husband, who continued
knocking at the door, she said. " I am coming." Accordingly
she went to let him in, and putting on a cheerful countenance,
she said, " Husband, it was the greatest blessing in the world
that Friar Rinaldo happened to be here to-day, for other-
wise we had certainly lost our child." The husband was
ready to faint away, and inquired how it happened 1 " O hus-
band," quoth she, " it had a fit, and I knew not what to do,
when the friar luckily came in, and taking the child in his arms,
he said, ' Madam, it is owing to worms which lie at his heart,
and would soon kill him ; but be not afraid, I will charm and
destroy them all, so that before I leave him, he shall be as well
as ever." Now as we wanted you to say some prayers, and
the maid did not know where to find you, he sent his friend
to the top of the house to say them in your stead ; whilst

NOVEL III. 337

we shut ourselves up in this chamber, as nobody could be
present at such a mystery besides the mother, and he has the
child now in his arms, and only waits till his friend has made
an end to conclude the whole process, for the child has come
to himself already." The honest man, who, out of his great
love for his child, was far from suspecting such a trick, fetched
a deep sigh, and said, "I will go and see him." " By no
means," she replied, "for that will spoil the whole thing ; but
stay, I will see first if you may be admitted, and then call
you." The friar, who heard the contrivance, was now dress-
ed, and having the child in his arms, and every thing in
readiness, he called out, " Madam, is not that your husband?"
— " Yes," answered he, " I am here." " Then come hither,"
quoth he, "and behold your son, whom I thought you would
never more have seen alive. Take him, and in return make
a statue of wax of the same bigness to the honour of St. Am-
brose, through whose merits you have received this extraor-
dinary favour." The child at seeing his father shewed several
little acts of fondness, whilst he received him with as much
joy and wonder as if he had been raised from the dead, re-
turning great thanks to the friar for what he had done. The
companion, also, hearing all that had passed, came down
into the chamber, and said, " I have gone through all the
prayers which you had enjoined me to repeat." Friar Rinal-
do replied, " Brother, you have done well, and you see by our
joint endeavours the child is recovered." The honest man
on this treated them both with wine and sweetmeats, when
thy took their leave with great respect. And immediately
he set about making the waxen image, and sent it to be set
up with several others before the image of St. Ambrose ; but
not St. Ambrose of Milan.

2 a

338

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL IV

Tofano shuts his wife one night out of doors ; who, not being
able to persuade him to let her come in, pretends to throw her-
self into a well, by throwing a stone in ; he runs thither to see,
during which she enters, and, locking Mm out, abuses him well.

Eliza had no sooner made an end, than the king turned to
Lauretta, who immediately began to this effect : — O love, how
great is thy prevailing influence ! how various and subtle are
thy devices ! What artist, what philosopher, could ever think
or contrive such shifts and evasions, as thou teachest in an
instant to those that follow thy paths ? All other instructions
whatever are slow, compared to thine, as appears by what has
already been said on the subject: to which 1 mean to add the
stratagem of a certain lady, conducted in such a manner, as
nothing but love could ever have dictated.

There lived at Arezzo a certain rich man named Tofano,
who had a very handsome woman for his wife, whose name
was Madam Ghita, of whom all at once, and without knowing
why, he became extremely jealous. This greatly vexed the
lady, who would frequently demand of him his reasons for
such a suspicion ; and he being able to assign none, but such
as were general, or nothing to the purpose, she resolved to
plague him with the real evil, which hitherto had only been
imaginary. And having observed that a certain young gen-
tleman had taken particular notice of her, she encouraged him
so far, that they oidy waited fora favourable opportunity to put
their design into execution. Amongst the rest of her hus-
band's bad qualities, he had taken a great delight, she saw, in
drinking, which she not only seemed pleased with, but would
persuade him to drink more. In this manner she used to
make him drunk as often as she could, which afforded the frst

NOVEL IV 339

opportunity of being with her lover, and from that time they
met continually by the same means. She depended indeed so
much upon this drunken disposition of his, that she would not
only bring her lover into her house, but even go and spend
the greatest part of the night along with him, his residence
not being very far off. Continuing this way of life, the hus-
band began to perceive that, whilst she encouraged him to
drink in that manner, she scarcely tasted it herself, and from
thence to suspect, as was really the case, that she made him
drunk with a view only to her own private purposes, during
the time of his being asleep. And being willing to have proof
of this, he pretended once (without having drunk a drop all
that day), both in his words and actions, to be the most disor-
dered creature that could be. Which she perceiving, and
thinking that he had then had a dose sufficient, and that he
would sleep without any more liquor, straightway put him
to bed. This was no sooner done, but she went as usual to
her lover's house, where she stayed the best part of the
night. Tofano finding his wife did not come to bed, got up,
and bolted the door, and then went and sat in the window to
wait for her coming home, that she might see he was ac-
quainted with her way of going on ; and continued there till
her return. She finding the door bolted, was exceedingly
uneasy, and tried several times to force it open. Which
after Tofano had suffered for some time, he said, " Mad-
am, you give yourself trouble to no purpose, for here you
shall not come : go back, if you please, for you shall enter
no more within these doors, till 1 have shewed you that re-
spect, which these ways of yours require, before all your
relations and neighbours." She then begged, for Heaven's
sake, that he would open the aoor, saying, that she had not
been where he imagined ; but (as the evenings were long,
and she able neither to sleep all the time, nor to sit up by
herself; that she went to see a gentlewoman in the neigh-
bourhood. But all was to no purpose, he seemed resolved
that the whole town should be witnesses of their shame, when
otherwise they would have known nothing of the matter.

The lady, finding her entreaties of no effect, had recourse
to threats and said, " Either open the door, or I will make you
the most miserable man that ever was born, ' Tofano replied,
"And which way will you do it?" She, whose wits were
sharpened by love, continued, " Before I will suffer such a
disgrace, as you mean wrongfully to fasten upon me, I will
throw myself direetly into this well, and being found there
afterwards, every body will conclude that you did it in one
of your drunken fits ; whence it must unavoidably happen,
that you be either obliged to fly your country, and lose all
your effects ; or else that you be put to death as having mur-

340 SEVENTH DAY.

dercd your wife." This, however, had no effect upon him ;
when she said, " I can no longer bear all your scorn, God for-
give you for being the cause of my death !" and the night
being so dark that they could scarcely see one another, she
ran towards the well, and taking up a great stone that lay by
the well-side, and crying aloud, "God forgive this act of
mine !" she let it fall into the well. The stone made a great
noise when it came to the water, which Tofano hearing, firmly
believed that she had thrown herself in, and taking the rope
and bucket he ran out to help her. But she, who stood con-
cealed by the side of the door, seeing him go towards the well
got into the house, and made all fast, whilst she went to the
window, and began to say to him, "Why, husband, you should
use water whilst you are drinking, and not after you have
made yourself drunk." Tofano, seeing her laugh at him, re-
turned, and, finding the door bolted, begged of her to open it
But she now changed her note, and began to cry out, " You
drunken, sorry, troublesome wretch ! you shall not come in
here to-night ; I can no longer bear with your evil practices ;
I will let all the world know what sort of a person you are,
and what hours you keep." Tofano, on the other part, being
grievously provoked, used all the bad language he could
think of, and made a most terrible mutiny. Upon which the
neighbours were all raised out of their beds ; and, coming to
their windows, inquired what was the matter. When she be-
gan to lament and say, " It is this wicked man, who is coming
home drunk at all hours of the night,which, having endured along
time, and said a great deal to no purpose, I was now willing
to try if I could not shame him out of it by locking him out."
Tofano, on the contrary, told them how the matter was, and
threatened her very much. She then said to the neighbours,
" Now you see what sort of man he is : what would you say
if I were in the street, and he within doors, as I am ? Then
you might think he was in the right. Take notice, I beseech
you, how artful he is ; he says I have done that which he
seems to have done himself, and talks something about the
well ; but I wish he was in it, that he might have some water
as well wine." The neighbours all joined in blaming Tofano,
deeming him the person in fault, and givinghim many hard words
for his usage of his wife ; and the thing was noised about the
city, till her relations heard of it, who came thither in a body;
and inquiring of one neighbour and another neighbour how
it was, they took Tofano, and beat him very severely. After-
wards they went into the house, and carried the lady away
with them, with all that was hers, threatening Tofano with
farther punishment. Whilst he, finding the ill effects of his
jealously, and still having a regard for his wife, got
some friends to intercede with her to come home again,

NOVEL IV. 341

promising never more to be jealous, and giving her leave
for the future to do as she would. Thus, like a simple
knave, he was glad to purchase peace, after having been to
the last degree injured.

2& 2

342

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL V.

A jealous man confesses his wife under a priest's habit ; who tells
him that she is visited every night by a friar : and, whilst he is
watching the door she lets her lover in at the house-top.

Lauretta having made an end, the king, without loss of
time, pointed to Flammetta, who began in this manner :

The preceding novel brings to my mind the story of another
jealous person ; being of opinion myself, that those husbands
are justly served in that manner, who are jealous without rea-
son. And if legislators, when they make their laws, could be
supposed to think of every thing, I imagine they would decree
no other punishment than what is ordered in cases of self-
defence ; for those jealous people are the death frequently of
their wives. All the week long are they kept mewed up in
their houses, and when holidays come that they should have
some ease and diversion, as all other people, according to the
laws both of God and man, have then rest, yet on those are
they more confined than any other time ; so that none are so
wretchedly enslaved as themselves. Therefore I conclude that
a trick put upon a husband, who was jealous without any rea-
son, will by you be rather commended than blamed.

There lived in Ariminio a certain rich merchant, who had
an agreeable woman for his wife, of whom he was immoder-
ately jealous ; and for no other reason in the world, but that as
he was very fond of her himself, and knew that it was her
whole study to please him, so he imagined every one else
would like her as well, and that she would be as desirous to
oblige them ; which shewed him to be one of a wicked dispo-
sition, as well as of little understanding. He consequently

343 SEVENTH DAY

kept so strict an eye over her always, that no felon under sen-
tence of death could be more narrowly watched. Whilst she,
so far from going out to feasts at any time, or to church, or
out of door, under any pretence whatever, was not suffered to
look out of the window ; so that she led a most wretched life, and
so much the worse, as she knew herself to be innocent. Thus,
finding herself so wrongfully treated, she resolved, for the
time to come, to give him some reason for such usage. And
as she had no opportunity of seeing people in the street, and
knowing that there was an agreeable young man lived in the
next house, she looked about to see if there was any chink in
the wall, whereby she might have an opportunity of speaking
to him, to make him an offer of her love, and to have him
come to her sometimes, if such a thing could be contrived ; in
order to spend her life with a little more comfort, till her hus-
band should be cured of his jealousy. At last, in a corner
of the room, she espied a crack which looked into a chamber
of the next house, and she said to herself, " Now if this should
prove Philippo's chamber," for that was the young gentlemen's
name, " my scheme would be half accomplished ;" of this she
ordered her maid to inform herself, who soon found out that he lay
there all alone. Visiting then that place pretty often, and
putting little sticks and straws through into the chamber, he
soon perceived it, and came thither to see what it meant.
She then called to him, and he answered, knowing her voice ;
when she soon made her mind known to him, which was en-
tirely to his good liking ; and he endeavored to enlarge the
opening on his side, taking care all the time that nobody should
perceive it. From that time they frequently conferred toge-
ther, and could shake hands, but no more, because of the
husband's extraordinary care and jealousy. Now Christmas-
day drawing near, she said to her husband, that, with his
leave, she would go to church that day, to confess and receive
the sacrament, like other good Christians. He replied, " And
pray what sins can you have committed, that you want to con-
fess?"— " What !" quoth she, " do you take me for a saint?
Though you keep me shut up in this manner, yet I must sin
as well as other people ; but I have no occasion to tell you,
as you are no priest." These words occasioned such a strong
suspicion in him, that he was resolved to know what those sins
were ; and having determined what means to use, he told her
he was willing ; but that she should go only to their chapel, and
that betimes in the morning, and confess to their chaplain, or
some person that he should appoint, and to no other, and
return from thence directly home. The lady seemed partly
to know his design, and, without making any other reply, said
she would do so.

On Christmas-day, then, in the morning, she arose betimes,
and went to the chapel, as her husband directed her. He also

344 SEVENTH DAY.

went to the same place, getting there first, and having agreed
with the priest what to do, he put on a gown, with a great hood
almost to cover his face, as we see priests wear sometimes, and
drawing it forwards over his eyes, he placed himself down in
the choir. The lady, upon her coming into the chapel, inquired
for the priest; who, hearing from her, that she wanted to con-
fess, told her, that he could not stop to hear her himself, but
would send one of his brethern. Accordingly he sent the
jealous husband, in an ill hour for him as it happened, who
had not so well disguised himself, but she immediately knew
him, and said to herself, " Thank Heaven, from a jealous fool
he is become a priest ; but I will take care to give him what
be seeks for." Seeming then not to know him, she sat down
at his feet. Now he had put some little stones into his
mouth, to alter his voice, thinking himself well enough dis-
guised as to eveiy thing else. Coming then to the confession,
amongst other things, see told him, that, being married, she
was yet in love with a priest, who came and lay with her every
night. This struck him to the very heart, and were it not
that he was desirous of learning something farther, he had
gone away, and left her at that moment. So he said to her,
" Well, but how is it ? And does not your husband lie with
you?" "Yes, Sir," she replied. "Then," continued he,
" how can the priest lie with you at the same time ?" " I
know not how he does it," quoth she ; "hut there is not a
door in the house but opens upon his touching it; he tells me
also, that, upon coming to our chamber, before he opens the
door, he says some certain words, which throw my husband
asleep, and then he comes in, and lies with me, and the other
never knows it." " O, Madam," quoth he, " that is a very
bad thing ; you must leave off such practices entirely." Ah,
father," answered she, " I know not how to do it, I love him
so well." " Then," continued he, " I can give you no abso-
lution." " I am sorry for that," she replied ; "but I came
here to speak the truth ; if I could leave them off, I would
tell you so." " I am sorry for you," quoth he, " as I see your
soul is in a state of damnation ; but I will offer up my particu-
lar prayers for you, which may be of service, and I will
send a person to you at certain times, when you may inform
him if you think you have received any benefit, and in that
case we will proceed farther." The lady replied, " Sir, never
think of sending any body to our house, for my husband is so
unreasonably jealous, that all the world could never heat it out
of his head, but that he came with a bad intent, and I should
not have one good day for this twelve-month." Madam,"
qouth he, " have you no care for that, for 1 shall manage in
such a manner, that you will hear no more from him upon
that score." " If you can do that," she replied, " I am con-

NOVEL V. 845

tent." And having made an end of her confession, and re-
ceived penance, she got up, and went to mass. The husband,
fit to burst with fury, put off the priest's habit, and went home,
waiting to find the priest and his wife together, in order to
wreak his vengeance upon both. Whilst she went out of the
church, seeing plainly by his looks that she had giving him
but a bad Christmas-box ; though he endeavoured to conceal
both what he had done, and meant farther to do.

Resolving then to wait the next night at the door for the
priest, he said, " I shall go out to sup, and stay all night ; be
sure, therefore, you lock the door to the street, and that upon
the stairs, as also your chamber-door, and when you are dis-
posed you may go to bed." She wished him a good night,
and went immediately to the chink in the chamber, and made
the usual sign, when Philippo came to her, and she told him
what she had done that morning, and what her husband had
said afterwards, adding, " I am confident he will never stir
from the door all night long ; do you contrive a way, then, to
come in at the top of the house." He replied, full of joy,
" Depend upon it, Madam, I will." When night came, there-
fore, the jealous husband armed himself privately, and lay
concealed in a ground-room, whilst she made the doors fast,
especially that upon the stairs : and the young man, when he
thought it a proper time, came by a secret way into hei
chamber.

The husband, in the mean time, continued supperless all
night long, uneasy to the last degree, and almost starved to
death with cold, waiting by the door for the priest. Day ap-
pearing at last, and nobody coming, he composed himself
there to sleep. Rising at the third hour, and the door of the
house being now opened, he came in, pretending to come from
another place, and called for his breakfast. Soon afterwards
he sent a messenger to her, as from the priest who confessed
her, to know if that person had come to her since. She, who
understood full well the nature of the message, replied, no,
he did not come that night, and that, if he left off visiting
her, she might forget him, although she had no desire to
do so.

What more need I say to you ? The husband continued to
watch every night, and they were together all the time. At
last, being out of all manner of patience, he demanded of her,
with the utmost wrath in his looks, what it was that she had
confessed to the priest ? But she refused to tell him, saying,
"that it was neither just nor reasonable." He added, " Thou
vile woman, I know, in spite of thee, what it was, and I will
make thee confess who this priest is, that lies with you every
night, by virtue of his enchantments, or else I will cut thy
throat." She replied, "It is false; I never lay with any

£46 SEVENTH DAY.

priest." " What !" said he, " did you not say so and so to the
priest who confessed you?" " Not," she replied, "for him to
tell you again ; but if you were present, it is a different thing:
then, to be plain with you, I did say so." " Now tell me,"
quoth he, " who this priest is, and quickly." She smiled,
and said, " I am always glad to see a wise man led (by the
horns as it were) by a simple woman ; though you deserve not
that character, since you have suffered yourself to be trans-
ported by that unreasonable fit of jealousy, without knowing
why; therefore the more weak you are, the less is my glory.
Do you think my eyes are as bad as your understanding?
No; I knew very well who the priest that confessed me was,
and that it was you. But I was resolved to give you what
you wanted, and I think I have done so. But if you were as
wise as you would be thought, you would never have desired
to come at your wile's secrets in that manner, and would hav*.
known, without any vain suspicion, that every word was true
which I said, and without the least crime or offence. I told
you I loved a priest : were not you, my unworthy husband,
then a priest? I said, no door could be kept shut when he
had a mind to come to me : and is not that literally true? I
added, that the priest lay with me every night. And pray
when did you lie from me ? And when you sent to know if he
was with me that night, 1 answered, he was not. Who but a
person blinded with jealousy like yourself, but must have un-
derstood these things ? And yet you kept watch all night at
the door, and would have made me believe that you were
gone elsewhere to sup and spend the night. Consider a little
better, and behave like a man, nor expose yourself any longer
to me, who am acquainted with all your ways ; but leave off
this extraordinary care upon my account ; for, I assure you,
were I disposed to be what you suspect, had you a hundred
eyes, whereas you have only two, I could do it over and over,
and you be never the wiser."

The poor jealous creature, who had thought himself cunning
before, now saw how he was despised, and, without more words,
divested himself of that foolish and. troublesome disposition ;
esteeming his wife, for the time to come, as a virtuous and
prudent woman. And she had no farther occasion to make
her lover come in at the top of the house, as cats do ; for the
door was open afcerwards whenever they had a mind to be
together.

THE SEVENTH LUY.

NOVEL VI.

Isabella, being in company with her gallant, called Leonetto, and
being visited at the same time by one Lambertuccio, her husband
returns, when she sends Lambertuccio away with a drawn
sword in his hand, whilst the husband guards Leonetto safe
to his own house.

They were all pleased with Flammetta's story, declaring,
that the woman had served the brute exactly right. And it
being concluded, the king ordered Pampinea to go on, who
then said:

There are many people so foolish as to affirm, that love de-
prives persons of their understanding, and that they who are
in love are out of their wits. But how ridiculous this asser-
tion is, will appear by what has been said before, and also by
what I am going now tell you.

In our city, abounding with every thing that is good, there
was formerly a beautiful ladv- wife to a certain worthy knight,
who desiring, as it will sometimes happen, a little variety, be-
gan to grow indifferent towards her husband, casting her
eye upon a certain young spark, called Leonetto, one of no
great family, but agreeable enough ; he likewise began to
shew the same good liking towards her, and it was not long
before their wishes were accomplished. Now it happened,
that another gentlemen was in love with her also, called
Lambertuccio, one by no means agreeable to her ; but he
ceased not to solicit her by all manner of ways, threatening at
the same time, as he was a man of note and power, to lessen
and expose her, unless she would comply with his desires.
This terrified her so much, that she thought herself obliged to

348 SEVENTH DAY.

listen to him. And being now, as it was summer-time, at
one of their country-houses, and her husband being gone
from home to make some stay, she sent for Leonetto to come
and be with her in the mean time. He obeyed her summons
with great pleasure. Lambertuccio, knowing also that her
husband was abroad, came all alone on horseback, and knock-
ed at the gate. Her maid, seeing him there, ran up stairs to
her mistress, who was in her chamber with Leonetto, and said,
"Madam, Signor Lambertuccio, is here below." The lady
was under the greatest concern imaginable, and desired Leo-
netto, not to mind stepping behind the curtain of the bed, till
the other was gone. Leonetto, who feared him as much as
she did, went and hid himself there, whilst she ordered her
maid to go and let Lambertuccio in, 'who being dismounted,
and hanging his horse at the door, was immediately shewed
up stairs ; when she, meeting him at the top, asked, with a
smile in her countenance, how she came to be favoured with
the visit ! " My life !" quoth he, " I understood your husband
was abroad, and it was for that reason I came to see you."
He had not been long with her, before her husband, contrary
to her expectation, returned. As soon as the maid saw him,
she came suddenly into the chamber, and said to her mistress,
fi Madam, my master is returned, and now in the court."
The lady was quite confounded at hearing this, and,
considering that she had two men in the house, and that the
knight could not be concealed, on account of his horse, gave
herself up for lost ; yet, resolving at length what to do. she
said to Lambertuccio, " Sir, if you have any regard for me,
and are willing to save me from destruction, pray do as I shall
direct you. Go down stairs with an angry countenance, and
your sword in your hand, saying, ' I vow to Heaven, if ever
I meet with him anywhere else — ' And if my husband should
offer to stop yon, or ask any questions, say nothing more than
that ; but mount your horse directly, and ride away, nor offer
to stay with him upon any account whatever." Accordingly
he obeyed her directions, whilst the husband was wondering to
see the horse there, and coming up stairs, he was further sur-
prise at Lambertuccio's fierce countenance, and hearing him
talk in that manner ; and he said to him, " Pray, what is the
matter, Sir ?" The other put his foot in the stirrup, and mut-
tered only these words, " If ever I meet the villain again

," and so road away. The knight, going up stairs,

found his wife at the stair-head, terrified out of her wits, and he
said to her, " What is the reason of Lambertuccio's going
away in so much heat and fury ? When she, drawing nearer
to her chamber, that Leonetto might hear, replied, "My dear,
I never was so frightened in my whole lite. A gentleman whom
I never saw before, ran in here, and Lambertuccio after him

NOVEL VI 349

with a drawn sword, and rinding the chamber-door open, he
came trembling into it, saying, ' I beg, Madam, you will pro-
tect me, otherwise I shall be murdered in your very presence.'
I arose, and was going to ask him who he was, and what was
the reason, when Lambertuccio was at the top of the stairs
roaring out, ' Where is the villian ?' Upon this, I ran to the
chamber-door, and stopped him as he was just coming in,
when he was so civil to me indeed, after he saw I was unwill-
ing he should come into the chamber, that, after a few words,
he went back again just as you met him." The husband then
said, "My dear, you did well ; it would have been a great dis-
credit to us to have had any body murdered in our house ; and
Lambertuccio was highly to blame to pursue a person hither.
But," quoth he, "where is the Gentlemen ?" She replied,
" He is hid somewhere or other ; I know not where." —
" Where are you ?" quoth the knight, "you may come out with-
out any danger." Leonetto, who heard all that passed, came
from where he was concealed much terrified, as indeed he had
no reason ; when the knight said to him, " Pray what affair is
this that you have had with Lambertuccio?" "Nothing,"
he replied, " in the world, that I know of; so that I am con-
vinced he has either lost his senses, or else mistakes me for
some other person ; for, upon seeing me in the street, at a
distance from your house, he drew his sword, and said, ' Vil-
lain, thou art a dead man !' I stayed to ask no questions, but
made the best of my way, and came hither, where, thanks be
to Heaven and this lady, I have found protection." "Then,"
said the knight, be under no fear; I will see you safe home,
when you may make inquiry what the ground of his quarrel
with you is." After supper, then, he mounted him upon one
of his horses, and conducted him to Florence to his own
house. And that night, by the lady's direction, he had a
private conference with Lambertuccio, when they so planned
it, that, though there was much talk afterwards about it, the
husband never knew the truth of his wife's stratagem.

2h

350

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL VII.

Jovico being in love with Beatrice, she sends her husband into
the garden, disguised like herself, so that her lover may be with
her in the mean time ; and he afterwards goes into the garden
and beats him.

Isabella's quick and lucky thought was admired by the
whole company, when Philomena began, by the king's com-
mand, to this effect : — You must understand, that at Paris
dwelt a certain gentleman, a Florentine, who, being a little
reduced, was forced to go into trade, by which means he ac-
quired a great deal of wealth. He had only one son, named
Lodovico, who having regard to the nobility of his father, more
than to any thing of business, was, instead of being brought
up in a warehouse, sent, with some other young noblemen,
into the service of the King of France, where he acquired all
the accomplishments that belong to a fine gentleman. And
being one day in company with certain knights, who were
just returned from the Holy Land, and talking of beauties in
England, France, and other countries, one of them declared,
that, in all parts of the world, of all the women that ever he
saw, he never met with any to come up to Beatrice, the wife
of Egano de' Galluzzi, of Bologna; to which his companions,
who had been with him there, agreed. Lodovico, at hearing
this, was possessed with such a desire of seeing her, that he
could think of nothing else ; and designing to go and make
some stay there, if she proved to his liking; he pretended
to his father that he had an inclination to go to the Holy
Land, who gave his consent with great reluctance. Chang-

NOVEL VII. 351

ing his name then to Anichino he came to Bologna ; and,
as fortune would have it, saw her at her window the very
next day, when he found her beauty to exceed even his
warmest imagination ; and, being quite enamoured, he re-
solved not to depart from Bologna till he had obtained his
desire. Thinking, therefore, which was the most likely way
to succeed, he supposed, that if he could but get to be a
servant to the husband, he might probably carry his point.
Accordingly he sold his horses ; and, disposing of his ser-
vants, with orders never to take notice of him, he told his
landlord, that he should be glad to get into the service of
some person of distinction, if such a place could be met
with. The landlord replied, " You are just such a person
as would suit a gentleman «here, called Egano, who-hasa great
number of servants, and will always have well-looking, gen-
teel people about him, like yourself: I will speak to him
for you." This he did, and Anichino was immediately ta-
ken into the family, greatly to his satisfaction. Continuing
then with Egano, where he had daily opportunities of
seeing the lady, he gained so far upon him, by his good be-
haviour, that he could do nothing without him ; and he
made him sole director of all his affairs. When one day
it happened, as Egano was gone out a fowling, and left
him behind, that Beatrice (who as yet knew nothing of his
love, but had always commended his most engaging beha-
viour) made him sit down with her at chess, and Anichino,
as it was his whole desire to please her, contrived to let her
win, with which she was vastly delighted.

At length, all the women being gone out of the room,
aiid they left by themselves, he fetched a deep sigh. She
looked, and said, " What is the matter with you, Anichino ?
Are you uneasy because 1 win ?" — " Madam," he replied," it
is a thing of more consequence which occasioned that sigh."
"Then by the regard you have for me," quoth she, " 1 con-
jure you to tell me." When Anichino saw himself entreat-
ed by his love for her, whom he valued beyond all the world,
he gave a greater sigh than before. She desired again to
know the reason. Whilst he replied, " Madam, I am ex-
tremely afraid lest I should disoblige you by so doing ; I
doubt also if you would not speak of it to some other per-
son." She made answer, " Be assured I shall not be diso-
bliged ; nor shall I ever speak of it again, unless you give
me leave." "Then," quoth he, "as I have your promise,
I will reveal it." And he told her with tears in his eyes,
who he was ; what he had heard of her, and where ; and how
he came to be servant to her husband, and entreated her, in
the most humble manner, to have pity on him, and ac-
cept of the secret offer of his love ; or, if that was too great
a favour for him to expect, that he might continue in the

352 SEVENTH DAY.

same condition as before; and that she would be pleased
only to let him admire her. O ! how singularly sweet are
these Bolognian dispositions ! In cases of this sort how
worthy of praise ! They delight not in people's tears and
sighs ; but to soft and amorous entreaties, are ever easy
of access. Were I able to give them their due praise, my
voice should never faint on so agreeable a subject. The
lady had her eyes fixed upon him all the time he was speak-
ing, and given entire credit to his words, she began to con-
ceive the same passion in her heart for him ; whilst she re-
plied, " Anichino, have a good heart ; you have effected that
in a moment (the small time only that you have been speak-
ing,) which all the lords and gentlemen, who have been daily
soliciting me, could never bring to pass ; so that I am more
yours than my own. You have deserved my love, and you
shall have it ; come, therefore, to my chamber about midnight."
Upon this they parted, and he waited with great impatience
for night. Egano was now returned from fowling, and, being
weary, went, as soon as he had supped to bed and the lady
with him, leaving the door open, as she had promised. At
the time appointed, Anichino went into the bed-chamber, and
shutting the door again, he stepped gently to the lady's side
of the bed, when, laying his hand upon her breast, he found
she was awake. Accordingly she seized it with both hers, and
and held him strongly, turning herself in bed at the same
time, turning herself in bed at the same time, till she made
her husband awake, when she said to him, " My dear, I would
say nothing to you last night, because you seemed to be weary;
but tell me, which of your servants do you believe to be the
most faithful, and whom you respect the most?" Egano re-
plied, " What a strange question this is! Do not you know

that I never loved, and put such confidence in any servant,

I But why want you to be informed?"

Anichino, perceiving Egano to be awake, and hearing them

;is

I now do in Anichino I But why want you

talk together, endeavoured several times to have drawn his
hand away, with a design of leaving the rcom, imagining that
she had put a trick upon him ; but she held him so fast,
that he could not. She then replied to Egano, saying, " I will
tell you : 1 once thought as you do, and that he was the most
trusty person about you, but I was mistaken ; for he had the
assurance, after you were gone out yesterday, to make an of-
fer of his love to'me ; whilst I, to give you manifest proof of
it, seemed to consent, and appointed to meet him this night
under the pine-tree, in the garden. Now my intention was
never to go thither; but if you have a mind to be convinced
of his villany, you need only slip on one of my petticoats, and
put a veil over your head, and 1 am sure you will find him." —
"Then," quoth he, "most certainly will I go." Arising, there-
fore and disguish g himself in that manner, as well as he could

^yppi

: ATE 13

NOVEL VII. 353

in the dark, he went into the garden to wait for Anichino.
As soon as he was gone out, she arose also, and made fast the
door. Whilst Anichino, who had been under the greatest
fears imaginable, and had endeavored all he could to get from
her, cursing both her and her love a thousand times over; and
himself likewise, for giving credit to her; finding out what
was her at last, was the happiest man imaginable. At length,
when she thought he had been as long with her as it was
safe for him to stay, she said, '' I beg of you to take a cudgel,
and go into the garden; and, pretending as if this was done
only to make trial of my virtue, do you give him some hard
language, as though it was myself, and cane him soundly."
Accordingly he arose, and took a good stick with him thither;
whilst Egano, seeing him come towards the pine-tree, we.it
with a great deal of seeming pleasure to meet him. When
Anichino said, " What ! you wicked woman, are you come ?
And could you think I could do such a thing b\ my master ?
I will make you repent yjur baseness." And lifting up his
cudgel, he laid on to some purpose. — Egano at these words,
and feeling the blows, took to his heels, without speaking
a word, whilst Anichino was close after him crying out,
" Away, you vile creature and depend upon it, that my
master shall know to-morrow." Egano having sustained
all this drubbing, returned at last to his chamber, when the
lady said to him, "Well! did Anichino come into the gar-
den?" Egano replied, " Would to God he had stayed away !
for, besides all the foul language that could be used to any
woman, he has broken almost all the bones in my skin. I
wondered indeed that he should use those rude expressions, if
he had such an intention as 1 suppposed him to have, towards
you. But, as he saw you of such a free, cheerful temper, he
had a mind to make trial of you, I suppose." — ''Then thank
Heaven," quoth she, " he proved me with words, and you
with deeds. But, I believe, he may say that I bore the words
better than you did the deeds : as he has shewed himself so faith-
ful, therefore, to you, you will regard him accordingly." —
" Most certainly," said Egano : and from that time he con-
cluded that he had the most virtuous wife and honestest ser-
vant in the world. On which account (though Anichino and
:-i e often laughed together at the thing) they had an oppor-
tunity of gratifying their desires with the less suspicion
(which could not have been done so well without such a
stratagem) all the time Anichino thought fit to stay with Ega-
no at Bolojma. •

354

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL VIII.

A woman ivho had a very jealous husband, tied a thread to her
great toe, by which she informed her lover whether he should
come or not. The husband found it out, and whilst he was
pursuing the lover, she put her maid in her place. He takes
her to be his wife, beats her, cuts off her hair, and then fetches
his wife's relations, ivlio find nothing of what lie had told them,
and so load him with reproaches.

Beatrice seemed to them all to have been strangely spiteful
towards her husband ; and every one agreed that Anichino's
fright and confusion must be very great to be held in that
manner, whilst she told her husband of his design upon her.
The king now seeing that Philomena had done, turned to
Neiphile, and said, "Do you speak." Neiphile smiled and
replied : —

A great charge at present rests upon me, to relate some-
thing equal to what has been said already ; but I shall en-
deavour to acquit myself as well as I can.

Know, then, that in our city lived a certain rich merchant
named Arriguccio Berlinghieri, who, like many of our trades
people now-a-days, foolishly thought to ennoble himself by mar-
riage ; and he took a wife, not at all suitable to himself whose
name was Sismonda. She (her husband, like other persons of
business, being often abroad) fell in love with a young gentle-
man called Ruberto, who had long paid his addresses to her,
and being not so discreet in that affair as she ought to have
been, it happened, whether her husband had any notion of it,
or for what other reason I cannot tell, that he became the most
jealous creature in the world, and, laying aside all his other

NOVEL VIII. 355

concerns, he applied his mind wholly to the care of her : nor
would he ever go to sleep without seeing her first in bed. This
was the greatest affliction to her, as it deprived her of all op-
portunity of being with her gallant : therefore, after much
thinking about it, and being greatly importuned by him all
the time, it came into her head at last to take the following
method : namely, as her chamber was towards the street, and
she knowing that, though her husband was long sometimes
before he went to rest, yet that when he was once fast he was
not easily stirred ; she meant to have her lover come to the
door in the middle of the night, and to go and let him in
whilst the husband was asleep. And, that she might know
when he was there, and nobody else perceive it, she resolved
to put a thread out of the window, one end of which should
go near to the ground, and the other end was to be brought
low along the floor, and so under the clothes into the bed ;
which when she went to bed she would tie to her great toe.
Having acquainted Ruberto with this, she told him, that, as
often as he came, he should pull the thread, when, if her hus-
band was asleep, she would let it go: but, if he was not asleep,
she would hold it fast, and then he was not to expect her. Ru-
berto liked this scheme mighty well and he was frequently
coming thither, when sometimes he could have her company,
and sometimes not. Till at last, carrying on this device in the
same manner, it happened, whilst she was asleep, as the hus-
band was stretching out his feet in the bed, that he met with
this thread ; when putting down his hand and finding it tied
to her toe, he thought within himself there must be some
trick here ; perceiving afterwards that the other end went out
of the window he held it for granted; accordingly he took it
off her toe and put it upon his own, waiting to see what the
event would be. He had not been long expecting, before
Ruberto came, and pulled the thread as usual ; Arriguccio
perceived it, and not having tied the thread fast enough, and
the other drawing pretty strong, it came into his hand, which
he supposed was for him to stay, and so lie did. Arriguccio
upon this arose with all haste, and taking arms with him, he
went to the door, to see who it was, and to take vengeance
on him. Now, though he was a merchant, he was a stout,
wavlike man; and being come to the door, and not opening it
in the manner the lady used to do, Ruberto began to have a
suspicion how it was, and immediately took to his heels, and
the other after him. At last Ruberto having run a great way
and the other still pursuing him, he faced about (as he was
armed likewise) and drew his sword, whilst the one continued
pushing, as the other stood upon his defence. The lady awoke
the moment her husband opened the chamber-door, and find-
ing the thread gone from her toe, concluded she was discovered.
And perceiving' that he had run after her lover, she arose, re-

356 SEVENTH DAY.

solving what to do ; and calling her maid (who was in the
secret) she prevailed upon her to go into bed ; begging of her
to receive all the blows patiently which her master should
give, without making any discovery ; and she would make her
such a recompence, that she should have no cause to repent.
Putting out the light then which was in the chamber, she went
and hid herself in a corner of the house, waiting for the
event. The fray between Arriguccio and Ruberto had alarmed
all the neighbours, who arose and began to reprove them very
severely, on which Arriguccio. without knowing who his an-
tagonist was, or being able to do him any harm, left him (for
fear of being known himself), and returned full of wrath to his
own house. And coming into the chamber, he said, " Where
is this vile woman? What! she has put out the candle that I
should not find her; but she shall be mistaken." So he went
to the bed-side, and began to beat and kick the maid (think-
ing it was his wife), till he was quite weary, and what with
his hands and feet together, had bruised her face to a mummy.
When he had done that, he cut of her hair, saying all the
reproachful things that could be spoken to a woman. The
girl roared out very much (as indeed she had reason) ; and
though she would frequently say, " For God's sake have mer-
cy !" and nothing: more, yet her words were so broken with la-
mentations, and he so blinded too with fury, that he never dis-
covered her not to be his wife. Having beat her then to some
purpose, and cut of her hair (as we observed) he said, " Thou
vile prostitute, I shall meddle with thee no farther, but will go
for thy brothers, to let them know of thy exploits, when they
may do as they shall think most for their own credit, and take
thee away with them ; for here thou shalt no longer abide:" so
he locked her in, and went away by himself.

As soon as Sismonda (who had heard the whole transac-
tion) perceived he was gone, she came into the chamber and
struck a light, when she found the girl all bruised, and in
tears. And having comforted her in the best manner she was
able, she removed her to her own apartment, where she was
well taken care of; and rewarding her, at Arriguccio's expence,
she went immediately and set her room to rights ; making
the bed over again, as if nobody had lain in it that night;
and she lighted up the lamp, and dressed herself as if she had
never been in bed. • Then taking up her work, she sat herself
down at the top of the stairs, and began to sew. Arriguccio in
the mean-time went with all possible haste to her brothers'
nouse, and knocked there till he made them hear and open the
door. When the brothers (who were three) and the mother
all arose, hearing it was he ; and seeing him come alone, at
that time of night, they inquired the reason. Whereupon he
related the whole affair, beginning with the thread, and going
on to what he had done afterwards, and at length by way of

NOVEL VIII. 357

conviction, shewed them the hair, which he had cut off; add-
ing, that, in regard to their own honour, they might take her
away, and dispose of her as they pleased, for that he would be
no longer troubled with her. The brothers were greatly
offended at hearing this story, and in their fury ordered torches
to be got ready, preparing to go back with him, that she
might not want her due treatment ; whilst the mother went
heavily after, sometimes entreating one, and sometimes ano-
ther of them, not to be too hasty in condemning their sister;
alleging, that he might have quarrelled with her upon some
other account, and now brought this by way of excuse ; add-
ing, that she wondered how it could be ; seeing that she well
knew her daughter, having brought her up herself; with more
words to that effect. Being now at the house, and going up
stairs, Sismonda called out to them, and said, " Who is there?"
When one of her brothers replied, " You shall soon know, you
vile creature as you are !" " Lord have mercy on me !" said
she, " what is all this for?" And rising up, she went, saying,
" Brothers, you are welcome ; but what is the meaning of "your
coming all three at this time of the night ?" They, observing
that she had been sitting at work, and without any such
bruises or blows as the husband had talked of, began to wonder ;
and, abating a little of their former wrath, they inquired the
meaning of this difference with her husband, threatening her
severely if she spoke anything but the truth. The lady re-
plied, " I know not what you would have me say, nor of any
quarrel tha*- I have had with him." Arriguccio, at beholding
her, was like one confounded remembering that he had scratched
and beat her in a most outrageous manner, of which no sign
now appeared ; and her brothers then told her what they had
heard from him. She now turned to him, and said, " Alas 1
my dear, what is this I hear ? and why would you have me
thought to be a wicked person, to your great disgrace, when I
am not so : and yourself an ill-tempered sorry man, when it
is quite otherwise ? When were you here to-night before now ?
Or when did you beat me ? For my part, I know nothing of
the matter." Arriguccio replied, " You abominable wretch!
what, did we not go to bed together ? Did I not return hither
again after pursuing your gallant ? Did I not give you a thou-
sand blows at the same time that I cut off your hair?" She
made answer, "You never went to bed in this house to-night:
but, letting this alone, for which you can have only my word,
and to come to what you talk of, namely, of your beating me,
and cutting off my hair, let any one see if I have such bruises
upon me; nor should I advise you to attempt ever to serve
me so; for, as I hope to be saved, I would return the like, if
you did. And, as to cutting off my hair, I never knew any
thing of it, if it was so ; but let us see whether it be as you
say, or not." She then pulled her veil off, and shewed her

358 SEVENTH DAY.

hair all entire, and in ordei. The brothers and the
mother, seeing this, said to him, " How now, Sir! Surely this
c:tn never be the thing that you came to acquaint us with;
which way will you prove the rest?" Arriguccio was like one
out of his wits. Gladly would he have said something, but
seeing the thing appear differently from what he had under-
taken to shew them, he could not get out one word. She now
said to her brothers, I see he has a mind I should relate to
you his vile proceedings, and my own unhappiness, and I will
do it. I believe firmly that what he says may be true, and I'll
tell you which way. This sorry fellow, to whom you gave me
in an ill hour, who calls himself a merchant truly, and would
be thought such, and who therefore should be as temperate as
a hermit, and as modest as a maid ; this man, I say, is drunk
most nights in one tavern or other; one while with one pros-
titute, and then again with another, whilst I am forced to sit
up for him, in the manneryou now found me, tillmidnightforthe
most part, and often till morning. And being very drunk, he
might find a thread tied to the toe of one of those strumpets,
and run after some person or other, and fight him, as he says ;
and returning back, he might beat her in that manner, and
cut off her hair : and not being thoroughly sober again, he
imagines it was done to me ; if you observe, lie appears now
to be half fuddled : therefore I would have you consider him
as a person in liquor, and forgive him even as I mean
to do."

The mother, at these words, made a great clamour, and
said, " My dear child, it shall never be ; he deserves hanging,
for an ill-conditioned brute as he is. He is unworthy of such
a woman as you are. What could he have done more, had he
catched you in the open street ? Things are come to a fine
pass truly, if you must be set down by the words of a little
paltry merchant. This sort of feilows, you must know, if
they have but a little money in their pockets, are all for a
gentlemna's daughter; when the pretend to some coat of
arms, and say, ' i am of such a family, and my ancestors
did so and so.' Would to Heaven my sons had followed my
advice ! Count Guido would gladly have taken you with-
out a penny of fortune ; yet they chose to marry you to this
jewel hear : and though there is not a better gentlewoman
nor one more virtuous in Florence, yet he was not ashamed to
call you strumpet, as if we were strangers to your character.
But, as I hope to live, were they ruled by me, they would beat
him to a mummy." Turning now to her sons, she said, " I
told you, as we came along, that it could never be true. You
hear how this fine brother of yours uses your sister: a poor
sorry fellow as he is! were I in your place, hearing what he
has both said and done towards her, I would never leave him
with life. — Confound him! for a drunken, quarrelsome villian,

NOVEL VIII. 359

to have no shame in him !" Here the brothers said all the
severe things they could think of; concluding at last, with
saying, " We forgive you this once, as you were drunk, but
take great care we hear no more such stories ; if we do, we
will pay off all your old scores," and so they left him. Arriguccio
stood like one who had lost his senses, scarcely knowing whe-
ther all this was real, or only a dream, and from that time
quarrelled no more with his wife ; whilst she not only escaped
from the most imminent danger, but open a way to obtain her
desires, without the least fear of her husband for the time to
come.

360

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL IX.

Lydia, the wife of Nicostratus, being in love with Pyrrhus, di I
three things which he had enjoined her, to convince him of her
affection. She afterwards used some familiarities with him be-
fore her husband's face, making him believe that what he had
seen was not real.

Neiphile's novel had pleased them all to that degree, that
they could not keep from laughing and talking about it,
although the king had several times called out silence, in or-
der that Pamphilus should speak ; who at length began in
th's manner : — There is nothing, I am persuaded, so danger-
ous and difficult, that a person who is thoroughly in love will
not attempt ; which, though it has been shewed by various
instances already given, yet I think will be still more appa-
rent from a story which I am going to tell you, of a lady
much more fortunate than wise. Therefore I would advise
no one to run the risk of following her paths ; because nei-
ther is fortune always disposed, nor are all men to be blinded
in the same manner.

In Argos, an ancient city of Achaia, more famous formerly
for its kings than great, lived a certain nobleman called
Nicostratus, to whom fortune, in the decline of his life, had
given a young lady for his wife, of as great a spirit as she was
beautiful, named Lydia. Now he, being a lord of a large es-
tate, kept a great number of servants, dogs, and hawks, and
was very fond of country diversions. Amongst his other ser-
vants was a genteel young man named Pyrrhus, whom he
valued and trusted above all the rest. With this person she

NOVEL IX. 361

was so much in love, that she could never be happy but in his
company ; whilst he (whether he did not, or would not per-
ceive her regard for him), seemed not at all affected by it.
This she laid much to heart, and resolving- to make him un-
derstand her, she called one of her favourite maids, whose
name was Lusca, and said to her, " Lusca, the favours you have
received from me, should make you both obedient and faithful ;
take care therefore that you reveal what I am going to speak
to no one, save to the person concerned. You see what a
great disproportion there is between my husband's age and
mine, and may suppose I can have but little comfort with
such an one ; for that reason I have made choice of our
Pyrrhus. If you have any regard for me, then, let him
know my love for him in the best manner you are able ; and
entreat him, on my part, that he would please to come hither
to me." The girl promised to do so ; and, on the very first
opportunity, she took Pyrrhus aside, and delivered her mes-
sage. This surprised him very much, as not having the
least notion of such a thing ; and being apprehensive that it
might be done to try him, he answered roughly, "Lusca, I
can never think this comes from my lady ; then take care what
you say : or, if she did say so, you could never have her or-
ders to disclose it : or, even admitting that, still I have that
regard for my lord, that I could never offer to do him such an
injury: I charge you, then, let me hear no more about it."
Lusca, not at all abashed at his stern way of speaking, replied,
(i Pyrrhus, I shall speak at all times what I am ordered by my
lady to say, whether it offends you or not, but, for your part,
you are no better than a brute." And she returned full of
wrath to her mistress, who was fit to die on hearing it ; and
in a few days, she said again, " You know, Lusca, that one
stroke never fells an oak ; then go once more, and tell him
that his fidelity is at my expense ; represent the passion I
have for him, in such a manner, that he may be affected with
it; for, if he continues so indifferent, it will go near to cost
me my life." Tbe girl desired her to take courage; and
going again to Pyrrhus, and, finding him in good humour, she
said, " I told you, a few days ago, of the great regard my
lady had for you ; and I now assure you, that, if you continue
in the same resolution, she will never survive it : then be per-
suaded, or 1 shall think you the greatest fool in the world.
What an honour will it be to have the love of such a lady!
Consider how greatly you are obliged to fortune: she offers
you a most beautiful woman, and a refuge from your necessi-
ties. Who will be happier than yourself, if you be wise ?
Do but represent to yourself whatever an ambitious heart can
desire ; all will be yours. Open then your understanding to
my words, and remember, that fortune is wont to come once
in our lives to us with cheerful looks, and her lap full of fa-
2 i

362 SEVENTH DAY.

vours : if we turn our backs on her at that time, we may
thank ourselves should we be poor and miserable all the rest
of our days. You talk of honour and fidelity; there is some-
thing indeed in that plea among friends : but, with regard to
servants, in such a case, they may do just as their masters
would behave to them. Can you imagine, had you a wife,
daughter, or sister, that our master fancied, that he would
stand on such nice terms of duty, and all that, as you now do
to his wife? You can never be so foolish, but you must be-
lieve, that, if persuasion was ineffectual, he would make use
of force. Let us serve them, therefore, as they would serve
us ; make use of fortune's kind offer in your favour : for, de-
pend upon it, setting aside the consideration of what may
happen through your refusal to the lady, if you do not, you
will repent the longest day you have to live." Pyrrhus, who
had made several reflections on what she had said before to
him, and had resolved to make a different reply if ever she
came again, being now not averse to the thing, provided
he could be assured she was in earnest, made answer, " Lusca,
this is all true, I confess ; but yet as my lord is a very wise
and provident person, and, as I am entrusted with the manage-
ment of all his affairs, I am afraid that my lady only does
this to try me : three things then there are that I require of
her for my own conviction, after which I will obey all her
commands. The first is, that she kill my lord's favourite
hawk before his face ; the second, that she send me a lock of
his beard; and the third, one of his soundest and best teeth."
These seemed very hard conditions to the maid, and more so
to the mistress ; but love, who is a good comforter as well as
counsellor, soon made her resolve. Accordingly, she sent
him word, by the same person, that all three should be done.
And farther, that, as he had such an opinion of his lord's
wisdom, she would also undertake to make him not believe
his own eyes. Pyrrhus then waited to see what course she
meant to take. In a few days, therefore, Nicostratus having
prepared a great entertainment, as he used frequently to do,
just as the cloth was taken away, she came into the hall, richly
dressed, and there, in the presence of Pyrrhus and the whole
company, went to the perch where this hawk was, and un-
loosed him, as if she had a mind to take him upon her hand,
when taking him by the jesses, she dashed his brains out
against the wall. And while Nicrostratus was crying out,
"Alas! my dear, what have you done?" she took no notice,
bin turned to the people, and said, " I should scarcely revenge
myself of a king that was to do me an injury, if I wanted cour-
age to wreak myself on a paltry hawk. You must know, that
this bird has deprived me of all the pleasure I should have
from my husband ; for by break of day he is up, arid on
horseback, after his favourite diversion, whilst I am left all

NOVEL IX. 363

alone, and neglected : for which reason, I have long taken a
resolution to do this thing and only waited for an opportunity
to have so many equitable judges present, as I take you
to be."

The gentlemen, supposing her affection to Nicostratus to
be as fervent as her words seemed to declare, laughed heartily;
and, turning to Nicostratus, who seemed a good deal disturbed,
they said, " She has done very well in taking her revenge
upon his hawk;" and, after a little raillery, changed his re-
sentment into a fit of laughter. Pyrrhus, upon seeing this,
said to himself, "She has made a noble beginning; Heaven
grant that she may persevere ! — The hawk being thus dis-
patched, it was not long before she happened to be toying
with her husband in the chamber, whilst he pulling her gently
by the hair, gave occasion for her to put Pyrrhus's second
command in execution : when, taking hold of a little lock of
his beard, and laughing heartily at the same time, she pulled
so hard, that it brought the skin and all away together. He
grew very peevish at this, and was going to quarrel with her ;
when she said, " You make an angry face, truly, because I
plucked a hair or two off your beard ; you were not sensible
what 1 suffered, when you pulled me by the hair just now."
So, continuing their play from one word to another, she took
care of the tuft of his beard, and sent it that very day to her
lover. She was more perplexed about the last thing ; but,'
having an enterprising genius, which was rendered more so
by love, she soon resolved on what means to use to bring that
about. And, as Nicostratus had two youths in his house,
given him by their fathers, who were gentlemen, in order to
learn good breeding, one of whom carved his victuals, whilst the
other filled out the wine, she made them both believe, one day,
that their breath was very offensive ; and she taught them,
when they waited upon Nicostratus, to turn their heads on one
side always, but never to speak of it to any person- This
they believed, and did as they were directed. One day she said
to him, " Did you ever take notice of your pages' behaviour
when they wait upon you?" "Yes," said he, " I have, and,
been often going to ask them the reason." " Then," she replied
" you may spare yourself that trouble, for I can tell you. I
have kept it some time from you, for fear of disobliging you ;
but, now I see other people take notice of it, I can conceal it
no longer. It is then because you have a stinking breath ; I
know not what the cause may be, for it did not use to be
so ; but it is a most grievous thing, as you keep a great deal
of company ; therefore, I would have you take some method
or other to get rid of it." "What," said Nicostratus, "can
it be owing to 1 Have I a foul tooth in my head ?" She re-
plied, " Perhaps you have ;" and, taking him to the window,
she made him open his mouth, and after looking carefully in

364 SEVENTH DAY.

every part, she said, " O, my dear ! How could you hear with
it so long 1 Here is a tooth which seems not only rotten, but
entirely consumed ; and if you keep it any longer in your
mouth, will certantly decay all on the same side : I advise
you then to have it out before it goes any farther." " As you
think so," quoth he, " and I approve of it too, send instantly
for an operator, to draw it out." " Tell me of no operator,"
said she ; " I will never agree to that ; it seems to stand in
such a manner, that I think I could do it myself : besides,
those fellows are so barbarous upon those occasions, that my
heart could never bear to have you under their hands. There-
fore I will try to do it myself; and if it gives you too much
pain, Iwill let you go again, which those people will never do."
Getting now an instrument for that purpose, and sending
every one out of the room, excepting her favourite maid, she
seated him upon a stool, and laying hold of a tooth, whilst
the other kept him fast down, she put him to most intolerable
pain, and at length prew it out by main force : then keeping
the tooth, and producing a rotten one, which she had ready
in her hand, she said to the poor man, who was almost dead,
" See here, what it was you had in your mouth ! " and he,
believing it to be so, though he had felt the most exquisite
torture, and complained much of her harsh way of doing it,
as it was out, thought himself cured ; and having taken some
good comfortable things, the pain abated, and he went out of
the chamber. The tooth she immediately sent to her lover,
who, being now convinced of her love, held himself in readi-
ness to obey her commands. But she, willing to give him
some farther assurance, and thinking every hour an age till
she could be with him, feigned herself to be very ill ; and her
husband coming one day after dinner to see her, and nobody
with him but Pyrrhus, she desired, that, by way of ease to her
malady, they would take her into the garden. Accordingly
Nicostratus took hold of one arm, and Pyrrhus the other, and
leading her thither, laid her on a grass plat, under a pear-
tree : and sitting down by her, she, who had before instructed
him what to do, said to Pyrrhus, " I have a great desire to have
some of those pears ; do you climb up into the tree, and get
me a few." Pyrrhus immediately went up, and, as he was
throwing down some of the pears, he began to call out, " So !
What are you doing there below ? Do you think I am blind ? I
find, Madam, you are soon recovered after your fit of sickness.
You had better take those liberties elsewhere." The lady
turned to her husband, and said, " What is Pyrrhus talking
of? He is in a dream, surely." "No, Madam," quoth he
" I am in no dream. What ! did you think I could not see
you ?" Nicostratus wondered, and said, " Surely, Pyrrhus,
you are raving." "No, Sir," he replied, "I am very confi-
dent I saw you so and so together." Quoth the lady, "What

NOVEL IX. 365

can be the meaning of this ? Were I well enough, I would
actually go into the tree myself, to behold the strange things
that he taiks of seeing from thence." Pyrrhus still continued
in the same story, when Nicostratus desired him to come down,
and asked him what it was he really saw ? Pyrrhus replied,
" I thought I saw you billing and cooing, which, though
innocent enough between husband and wife, should never be
practised in public." "The man is out of his wits," quoth
Nicostrdtus ; " we neither of us so much as stirred from the
place where we were sitting." " Then," said Pyrrhus, " I
tell you I saw it." Nicostratus was now more and more sur-
prised, and said, " 1 will see whether this tree be enchanted
or not :" and as he was mounting up into the tree, Pyrrhus, and
the lady became very loving. Nicostratus, seeing this, began
to call out, "Oh! thou vile woman! what art thou doing
there ? and that rascal, Pyrrhus, in whom I put all my confi-
dence ?" And, with these words, he made all possible haste down,
when the lady and Pyrrhus both said, " We were sitting here
all the time just as you left us." However he seemed to be in a
violent passion, whilst Pyrrhus said to him, " Now, Sir, I am
convinced that I saw falsely myself, as yours is the same case;
for I can be positive that you were mistaken. Do but reason
with yourself : can it be supposed that your lady, who is the
most virtuous and prudent of all others, should ever attempt
to do such a thing before your very face ? And, for my own
part, I wrould be cut limb from limb before I would ever en-
tertain such a thought, much less do so in your presence."
" The fault, then, in this mistaken appearance must proceed
from the tree ; for all the world could never have convinced me
but that I saw you and my lady together in the same manner
if I had not heard from yourself that we appeared so to
you." On this, she said, with a good deal of warmth, " Do
you think, were I so loosely given, that I should be such a
fool as to do these things before your eyes ? No, there are
opportunities enough, without your being ever the wiser."
Nicostratus, believing at last what they both said, came into
a little better temper, and began to talk of the novelty, and
wonder at the thing; whilst the lady, who seemed concerned
for the ill opinion he had received concerning her, added,
"Most certainly, this tree shall never occasion anymore
scandal either to me or any other woman, if I can help it :
run, therefore, Pyrrhus, for an axe, and cut it down, in regard
to us both ; though the axe might be as well employed upon
my husband's weak noddle, for believing his own eyes in a
case so repugnant both to common sense and reason." The
axe was then brought, and the tree cut down ; upon which
she said to Nicostratus, " My wrath is over, now I see my
honour's adversary thus demolished." And he having begged
her Dardon, she freely forgave him, charging him, for the fu-
2 i 2

366 SEVENTH DAY.

ture, never to presume such a thing of her, who loved him

dearer than her own life. Thus the poor deluded husband

returned with his wife and Pyrrhus into the house, where
nothing now prevented the latter from accomplishing all
their wishes.

3<>:

THE SEVENTH DAY.

NOVEL X.

Two inhabitants of Siena love the same woman, one of whom ivas
godfather to her son. This man dies, and returns, according
1o his promise, to his friend, and gives him an account of what
is done in the other world.

There was only the king now left to speak; who, after quieting
the ladies, who were under some concern for the cutting down
of the pear tree, began as follows : — It isa plain case, that every
just prince ought himself to be tied down by the laws of his
own making; and that, if he acts otherwise, he should be
punished as a private person : now I am forced to fall under
this very censure ; for yesterday I gave you a subject for this
day's discourse, with no design of making use of my privilege,
but to conform with the rest, and speak to it myself. Whereas,
besides taking the very story from me which I meant to have
given, there has been such a variety of incidents related to
the same effect, and well told, that I can think of nothing
mvself worth troubling you with, after them. Therefore, as I
am under the necessity of transgressing against my own law,
I submit to any punishment you shall please to inflict upon
me. So, having recourse to my privilege at last, I shall relate
a short novel ; which, though it contain some things which
we are not to credit, may not be disagreeable for you to hear.
There were, some time since, two young men of Siena, the
one named Tingoccio Mini, and the other Meuccio di Tura,
who dwelt in the Porta Solaia, and were very intimate. They
used, therefore, to go to church together, when hearing much
of the pleasures and pains of a future state, and being desirous
of knowing something more certain on that head, they pro-
mised each other, that whichever died first should return, if it

368 SEVENTH DAY.

was possible, to inform his friend. In the mean time, they
happened both to fall in love with the lady of Ambruogio
Anselmini. This, how great soever their friendship was,
they kept from each other, though for different reasons. Tin-
goceio had been godfather to one of her children ; and being
in a measure ashamed of such gallantry, he concealed it from
his friend. On the other part, Meuccio kept his love a secret,
because he knew the other liked her as well as himself. At
length Tingoccio, as he had more opportunities than his
friend, happened to succeed. This was a great mortification
to Meuccio, who still lived in hopes of gaining his point some
time or other ; and seemed, therefore, to know nothing of the
matter, lest Tingoccio should thwart his designs. Some time
after this, Tingoccio was taken ill, and died : and the third
night afterwards, he came into Meuccio's chamber, who was
fast asleep, and called aloud to him. Meuccio awoke, and
said, " What art thou?" He replied, " 1 am thy friend Tin-
goccio, who am come, according to our agreement, to bring
thee tidings of the other world." Meuccio was considerably
terrified at this, but taking courage at last, he said, "Thou
art welcome." And then he asked him whether he was a lost
person? Tingoccio made answer, " Those things only are lost
which cannot be found ; and if that was my case, how should
1 be here ?" " I mean not so," quoth Meuccio; "but what
I ask is, whether you be one of the damned ?" ■' Not so,"
said he ; " but yet I suffer great pains for some sins which I
committed." He then inquired what punishment was inflic-
ted for every single sin ; and Tingoccio resolved him fully in
each particular. And asking farther, if he could do him any
service here, Tingoccio answered. "Yes; namely, by saying
prayers and masses, and giving alms : for those things are of
great benefit to the deceased." This Meuccio promised to
do ; and as the ghost was offering to depart, he raised himself
up, and said, " I remember, my friend, that you had an affair
with such a lady: pray what is done to you on that account?"
" O brother," he replied, "when I first arrived in the other
world, I met with a ghost who seemed to have all my sins by
heart, and who ordered me to go into a certain place, where I
was to do penance for them, and where I found a great many
people who were sent thither upon the same score. And being
among them, and calling to mind that particular crime you
now mention, for which I expected some very great punish-
ment, I was all over in a tremble, although in the midst of a
great fire. When one that stood by me said, ' Pray, what
hast thou done more tlian any one else, that thou quakest to
this degree in so hot a place '.' 'Alas!' 1 replied, 'I had to
do with my godson's mother.' ' Go, thou fool,' said he, 'is
there any relationsmp in tnat, to make the crime worse V
This gave me some comiorr. Atterwaras, i being near

NOVEL X. 369

day-break, he said to his friend, " Farewell, for I can stay
no longer with you ;" so vanished out of the room. Thus
Meuccio was convinced, that that sort of kindred was of no
consequence ; and was less scrupulous than he used to be in
such cases, for the time to come.

The west wind now began to breathe, as the sun grew near
his setting; when the king, having concluded his novel, arose,
and taking the crown from his own head, placed it upon Lau-
retta's, saying, " Madam, I crown you with your own crown,
as queen of this company ; do you, as such, command what
you think will be most agreeable to us all." Lauretta being
now queen, sent to the master of the household, and ordered
him to have the cloth laid in the pleasant valley sooner than
usual, that they might return afterwards with more ease to the
palace. Then directing what she would further have done,
she turned to the company, and said, " It was Dioneus's will,
yesterday, that our novels should be concerning the devices
and tricks which women put upon their husbands ; and was
it not that you would think I had malice in my heart, my
subject for to-morrow should be the manner of men's imposing
upon their wives. But setting this aside, let every one think
of the stratagems which are in daily practice of the women to
the men, or of the men to the women ; or, lastly, of one man
to another ; and this, I think, will afford as agreeable matter
for discourse, as what we have had to-day." Here she gave
them their liberty till supper-time. The company then arose,
and whilst some went to wash their feet in the cold stream,
others took a walk upon the green turf, under the cover of the
spreading drees, and Dioneus and Flammetta sat singing toge-
ther the song of Palamon and Arcite. Thus all were agree-
ably employed till supper ; when the tables being set forth by
the side of the basin, they sat down to the music of a thousand
birds, and their faces fanned all the time with cool, refreshing
breezes, coming from the little hills around them, they supped
with the utmost mirth and satisfaction. Taking a walk after-
wards round the valley, before the sun was quite set, they
began their march back to the palace, talking all the way of
a thousand different things, which had either occurred in this
day's discourse, or the preceding, and arrived there as it grew
dark. Refreshing themselves, after their walk, with wine and
sweetmeats, they indulged in a dance by the side of the foun-
tain : sometimes, for variety, to the sound of Tindarus's bag-
pipe, and sometimes to other more musical instruments. At
length the queen called upon Philomena for a song, who thus
obeyed : —

370 SEVENTH DAY

SONG.
I.

Such my desire to meet my love,
That I with eager transport fly ;

But why your long unkind delay ?
Tell me, my swain, () tell me why.

II.

The joys I from your converse feel
No pow'r of language can express ;

Whilst your commanding smiles and voice
Conspire with mutual aid to bless.

III.

Say then, my life ! when we shall meet,
And former vows of love renew ?

Soon come the time, be long your stay ;
For all my wishes point to you.

IV.

I'll hold you fast, when fortune thus
Auspicious crowns my fond desires ;

Then haste, fly quick to my embrace ;
That pleasing hope my song inspires.

This song made them all conclude that Philomena was sub-
ject to the little god ; and, by her manner of expressing her-
self, her passion seemed to be in a fair and prosperous way : but
when it was ended, the queen, remembering that the next day
was a fast, said, " Gentlemen and ladies, I must let you know,
that to-morrow, being Friday, it is to be observed as holy ;
for you may remember, that when Neiphile was queen, we
waved our diversions on that day, and so we did on Saturday.
Therefore I think it proper to follow so laudable an example,
and to dedicate those two days to our devotions." This was
agreeable to the whole company; and a good part of the night
being now spent, she dismissed them, and they retired to their
respective chambers.

371

THE DECAMEBON.

THE EIGHTH DAY.

The rays of the rising sun began now to gild the tops of
the highest mountains, and the shade of the night was with-
drawn from the earth, when the queen and all her company
arose on Sunday morning; and, after taking a pleasant walk
along the meadows, they went, about the third hour, to a
neighbouring chapel, where they heard Divine service. Re-
turning to the house, and dining cheerfully, they afterwards
began to sing and dance as usual : when leave was given to
such as wished to repose themselves. After the sun had pass-
ed the meridian, they all met auain by the fountain side ; and
being seated, Neiphile, by the queen's command, thus
commenced.

372

THE EIGHTH DAY.

NOVEL I.

Gulf ar do borrows a sum of money of Guasparruolo, in order lo
give it his wife for granting him a favor : he afterwards tells
Guasparruolo, whilst she was present, that he had paid it to
her, which she acknowledges to be true.

Seeing it is my fortune to begin to-day with a novel, I am
content to obey: and, as we have heard much of tbe women
overreaching tbe men, I have a mind to tell you of a man's
being too cunning for a woman: not that I mean to blame
him for it, or to say that she was not rightly served. No, I
rather commend him, and think she met with no more than
her due. I do it also to shew that the men know how deceive
us upon occasion, as well as we do to impose upon them :
though, to speak more properly, this cannot be called deceiv-
ing, so much as making a deserved return ; for a woman
ouo-ht to be virtuous and chaste, and to hold her honor as dear
as her life ; and though our frailty is such, that we cannot al-
ways be upon our guard, yet I think that woman ought to be
burned who makes a trade of love. But where the little god
takes the field, whose force you know is very great, some
grains of allowance should be made, as was shewed a few
days since by Philostratus, in the story of Madam Pbilippa di
Prato.

There lived at Milan, a soldier, who was a German, and his
name was Gulfardo ; one of a good person, and very trusty to
such as retained him in their service, as the Germans generally
are ; and, because he was always very punctually in his pay-
ments, he found a great many merchants ready at any time to
lend him any sum, for a very small profit. Now he had placed
his affections on a lady, called Ambruogia, wife to a certain
rich merchant, named Guasparruolo, who was his old friend
and acquaintance. Conducting this affair with such caution,

NOVEL I. 373

that neither the husband nor anyone else had the least suspi-
cion about it, he took an opportunity one clay of declaring his
mind to her, when she promised to comply upon two condi-
tions ; first, that it should be kept secret ; and secondly, as
she had occasion for two hundred florins of gold, that he
should supply her with that sum. Gulfardo was so pro-
voked at this sordidness, that his love was changed into rage
and contempt ; and he resolved, therefore, to put a trick upon
her. Accordingly he let her know, that he was ready at all
times to do that or any thing else which she desired, and that
she should send him word when she would have him wait
upon her with the money, promising to bring only one friend,
in whom he put entire confidence, and who was his companion
upon all occasions. She was content, giving him to under-
stand that her husband was to set out in a few7 days for Genoa,
and that, as soon as he was gone, she would take care to send
for him. In the mean time, Gulfardo went to Guasparruolo,
and said, " Sir, I have an affair of consequence upon my
hands, which requires me to raise twfo hundred florins of
gold ; if you will advance that sum, I will allow you the
utmost gratuity." Guasparruolo readily agreed to it, and told
him out the money. In a few days after he set out for
Genoa, as the lady had said, who immediately sent word to
Gulfardo to come, and bring the two hundred florins.
Obedient to the command, he took his friend along with
him, and went to her house ; when the first thing he did
was to give her the money before this person ; saying,
" Madam, you will keep this, and give it to your husband
when he returns." She received it, never thinking why
he spoke to her in that manner, but supposing it was be-
cause he would have his friend to knowT nothing about the
matter, and replied, " I will ; but first let me see what
money there is." So she turned it out upon the table,
and found there were just two hundred florins ; when lock-
ing it up with a secret satisfaction, she came and shewed
him into the chamber. And he continued his visits to her
during her husband's absence at Genoa. On his return,
he went again to the house, and finding him with her, he
said in her hearing, " Sir, the money you were so kind to
lend me was of no service, because I could not compass the
thing on the account of which I borrowed it: therefore,
I brought it back immediately to your wife. Please then
to cancel my account." Guasparruolo turned to her,
and inquired whether she had received the money ? She
seeing the witness present, and not knowing how to deny
it, said, " Yes, 1 received, and forgot to tell you."
"Then," he replied, " I am satisfied; farewell — your
account is clear." Gulfardo withdrew, well pleased,
leaving the lady full of indignation, defeated and
despised 2 k

THE EIGHTH DAY.

NOVEL II.

The parson of Varlnngo receives favours from a woman of his
parish, and leaves his cloak in pawn for them. He afterwards
borrows a mortar of her, which he returns, and demands his
cloak, which he says he left only as a token. She mutinies,
but is forced by her husband to send it.

They all thought that Gulfardo had served the sordid
Milanese lady very justly, when the queen turned with a smile
towards Pamphilius, and desired him to follow : —

I mean, said he, to relate a short story, touching those
people who are continually doing us injuries, without our being
able to come at them, in the same manner at least as we are affec-
ted ; I mean the priests, who set up their standard, and pub-
lishing a general croisade against our wives, thinking, when
once they bring any of them under their subjection, that they
have done as meritorious an action, as if they led the sultan
captive from Alexandria to Avignon. Now we of the laity
cannot return the like to them, though we should do well to
revenge what is done to our wives, with as good a will, upon
their mothers, sisters, and other relations. I will tell you,
therefore, of a country amour, more diverting, in the conclu-
sion especially, than long ; by which you may reap the bene-
fit of learning that those people are not always to be regarded.

At Varlungo, a village not far from this place, lived a young
healthful priest, who, though not very expert at reading, yet
was he used to hold forth under an elm-tree every Sunday,
regaling the people there with many good and holy discourses.
And as to the women, no priest ever gave them better attend-

NOVEL II. 375

ance ; for he was daily carrying them presents of cake, holy-
water; and candle ends, when he would also give them his
blessing. Among all his parishioners, none pleased him so
well as a good woman, called Belcolore, wife to a certain la-
bourer, whose namewas Bentivegna del Mazzo : she, in truth,
was a tight, handsome, brown woman, and could sing, and
play upon the virginals, or lead up a dance as well as any
lass in the country ; so that our priest was almost out of his
wits about her. All day long would he go sauntering about
to get a sight of her, and on Sunday, when she was at prayers,
he would quaver out his Kyries and his Sanctuses, like an ass
that was braying, to let her see that he was a master of music;
but if she happened not to be there, he made no such stir ;
and yet he managed so, that neither the husband nor any of
the neighbours perceived it. The better to gain her favour,
he was every now and then sending her presents: one day a
bunch of leeks, the finest in the country, out of his own gar-
den, tilled with his own hands ; another time a basket of
pease, and onions or scallions as the season served. And,
when he saw an opportunity, he would give her a glance or
two from the corner of his eye, whilst she seemed all the
time not to take his meaning; so that, hitherto, it was all
labour lost. Now one day it happened, as he was idling
about, that he met the husband, who was driving an ass laden
before him, when he accosted him, and asked whither he was
going? " Why truly, father," he replied, " I am going about
some business to the city, and I carry these things as a pre-
sent to Signor Bonaccori da Ginestreto, for him to enter an
appearance for me, and to stand my friend in a cause that I
have before the judge." The priest seemed pleased, and said,
"Son, you are in the right: go, you have my blessing, and
make haste home ; and if you should see Lapuccioor Naldino,
do not forget to tell them to bring home my leathern straps."
The honest man promises to take care of his errand, and so
went on towards Florence, whilst the priest thought this a fit
opportunity to go to the wife, to try what he could do with
her. Accordingly, he made no stop till he came hither, and
entering into the house, he called out, " God bless you all
here; who is within ?" Belcolore was gone up stairs, and
when she heard him, she said, •' You are welcome, Sir ; but
what are you doing abroad in the very heat of the day ?"
The priest replied, " I am come to spend a little time with
you, finding that your husband is gone to the city. She then
came and sat down, and began to pick some cole-seed, which
her husband had just been threshing, when he said, "Ah,
Belcolore ! must I always die for you in this manner?" She
laughed and replied, " Pray what harm have I done you?"
" You have done nothing to me," answered he, " but you will
not suffer me to press you." " Go, go," quoth she, "what!

370 EIGHTH DAY.

do priests then mind such things?" "Why not," quoth he,
'•as well as other people ?" " Well, but what will you give
me!" said she, " for I know you are all as covetous as the
devil." "Why, ask what you will," he replied, "a pair of
shoes, or a top -knot, or a girdle, or any thing else that you
like." "Father," answered she, "I want none of those
tilings, but, if you love me as you say, do one thing for me,
and I will consent." "Say what it is," quoth the priest,
" and be assured I will do it most willingly." " On Saturday,
then," she said, " I must go to Florence, to carry some yarn
home, which I have spun, andtoget my wheel mended, and if you
will lend me five pounds, which I know you have, I can re-
deem from the broker my best gown and petticoat, which I
have been forced to pawn, and for want of which I am not
able to appear upon any saint's day, and you will then find
me always ready to oblige you." " As I hope for a good har-
vest," quoth the priest, " I have not so much about me, but I
will take care you shall have it before that time." " I know
you all," she replied, "to be good promisers, and that you
never think of performing what you say. No, I will make no
such bargains. If you have not the money in your pocket, go
and fetch it." "Alas!" quoth the priest, " never send me
home at this time ; you see there is nobody here now ; per-
haps when I return there may ; so that we can never have a
better opportunity." " Very well," said she, "you know my
resolution, either bring the money, or else go about your
business." The priest, perceiving that her intention was not
to comply without a salvum mefac, whereas he was for having
it sine custodia, said, " Seeing you will not take my word, be-
hold I leave you this cloak as a pledge." "The cloak!"
quoth she, "pray what is it worth !" "Worth!" answered
the priest ; " I would have you to know that it is made of a
fine serge ; nay, there are some of our people that call it a
broad cloth ; I bought it fifteen days ago only, of Otto, the
fripperer, and it cost me seven pounds ; and Buglietto tells
me, whom you will allow to be a judge, that I got five shillings
at least by the bargain." " Ay! did it stand you in so much ?"
said she ; I could never have thought it ; but give it me first."
He obeyed, and was afterwards forced to slink home in his
cassock, when he began to repent of what he had done; and,
considering with himself that all his vails and offerings for the
whole year would not amount to five pounds, he was contriving
how to get it back for nothing, when he thought of the follow-
ing stratagem. The next d;iy, being holiday, he sent a boy
to her house, desiring her to lend him a stone mortar, adding,
that he had two neighbours to dine with him, and he intended
to make them some green sauce. This she sent; and, about
dinner-time, when he expected that she and her husband
would be set down together, he called his clerk, and said,

• -

TH1E F ..AH

NOVEL II. 377

"Do you go, and take this mortar to Belcolore, telling her,
that your master gives her many thanks, and desires she
would send the cloak which he left hy way of token." The
clerk carried the mortar, and found them at table, having just
dined, when he delivered his message. She, hearing him de-
mand the cloak, was going to make a reply ; but the husband
put on an angry look, and said, " How came vou to take any
token from our priest ? I have a good mind to box your ears
for so doing. Return it, I say, directly, and let him want
what he will of ours, I charge you never to say him nay."
Upon this she went grumbling to the press for it, and giving
it to the clerk, she said, " Tell your master, the priest, that I
say he must expect no more favours from me." The clerk
delivered it with those very words, upon which the priest
laughed, and said, " When you see her, you may tell her,
that I desire none at any such rate." Now the husband
imagined that she had spoken in that manner, because he had
just been quarrelling with her, for which reason he was under
no concern about it. But she continued so provoked, that she
would never speak to the priest from that time till the time of
the vintage, when, after she had long threatened to send him
to the devil, he found means to pacify her at last, with some
new wine and chesnuts ; and, instead of the five pounds, he
tuned her virginals for her, and made her a song, which so
contented her, that they became as good friends as ever.

2 rv 2

373

THE EIGHTH DAY.

NOVEL III.

Calandrino, Bruno, and Buffalmacco go to Mugnone to look for
the Heliotrope : and Calandrino returns laden with stones,
supposing that he had found it. Upon this his wife scolds
him, and he beats her for it ; and then tells his companions
what they knew better than himself.

The ladies laughed immoderately at Pamphilus's novel, when
the queen turned to Eliza, who began in this manner : —

T do not know whether 1 shall be able to divert you as much
with my short novel, though it be true as well as comical ;
but yet I will try.

In our city, abounding always with people of different tem-
pers and nations, there dwelt not long since, a painter, called
Calandrino, a simple sort of man, and one that dealt much in
novelties ; he was often in company with two of the same pro-
fession, the one named Bruno, and the other Buffalmacco,
both facetious, merry persons, tnough otherwise subtle enough;
and they liked to be with this man on account of his oddities.
There lived also in the same city, the most agreeable and art-
ful young man, in every thing he undertook, that could be,
called Maso del Saggio, who, hearing much of Calandrino's
simplicity, wanted to divert himself at his expence, by impo-
sing some monstrous story upon him, as a thing very strange
and uncommon. And finding him by chance one day in St.
John's church, and observing him very attentive in looking
on the carved work and painting of the Tabernacle, which was
just put over the high altar, he thought he had now such an
opportunity as he wanted ; and acquainting one of his friends
with it, they came near to the place where he was sitting by
himself, and pretending not to see him, began to reason toge-

NOVEL III. .379

ther upon the virtues of the different stones, whilst Maso seem-
ed to talk as well upon the subject, as though he had been a
professed lapidary. Calandrino soon began to listen to this,
and finding they had no particular business, he got up and
joined them. This was what the other wanted ; and as he
was going on with his discourse, Calandrino asked him where
these stones were to be found ? Maso replied, " The greatest
part are to be met with in Berlinzone, near the city of Baschi,
in a country called Bengodi, where they tie the vines with
sausages, and you may buy a goose for a penny, and have the
goslings into the bargain ; where there is also a mountain of
grated Parmesan cheese, and the people that are upon it do
nothing else but make cheese-cakes and mackaroons, which
they boil in capon-broth, and keep constantly throwing down
thence, when those that can catch most have most : and there
is a river too of the best Malmsey wine that ever was tasted,
without one drop of water." " Surely," says Calandrino,
" that must be a fine country indeed ! what becomes of the
capons after they are boiled?" " O," quoth the other, "the
people there eat them." " Then," said Calandrino, "was you
ever there ?" Maso, replied, "Was I ever there, do you say ?
If 1 have been there once, I have been there a thousand
times." Quoth Calandrino, "And how many miles is it off?"
He replied, " Many thousands." " Then," said Calandrino,
" is it farther off than the Abruzzi." " But a trifle," said the
other-. Whilst Calandrino, observing that he had told all
this whole tale without changing countenance, or so much as
a smile, held it all for truth ; and he added, " Believe me,
sir, the jonrney is too great, or else [ should like to go and
scramble for those mackaroons. But are none of the precious
tones you are speaking of in that country ?" Maso replied,
" Two there are, which are found to be of great virtue : one of
these, which comes from Montisci, they make into mill-stones,
which will produce flour of themselves. Whence they have a
saying, That grace comes from God, and mill-stones from Mon-
tisci ; such plenty there is of them, and yet they are as lightly
esteemed among us, as emeralds are there, of which they have
whole mountains, that shine gloriously all night long. Now,
these mill-stones they set in rings, and send to the Sultan ;
who gives them, in return, whatever they ask for them. The
other stone is what we call the Heliotrope, which renders
those that have it invisible." " That," said Calandrino, " is
a rare virtue indeed ! But where is this stone to be found ?"
Maso replied, " It is usually met with upon our plains of
Mugnone." Quoth the other, " Of what size and color then
is it?" Said Maso, "They are of different sizes, but all of a
blackish hue." Calandrino took care to remember all he had
heard, and pretending to have other business, he went away
with a design of going- to seek for this stone ; but first he had

380 EIGHTH DAY.

a mind to consult his two friends, and he spent all that morn-
ing in seeking after them. But hearing at last that they were
at work in the monastery at Faenza, he ran thither, and calling
them aside, he said to them : " If you will believe me, we
have it now in our power to be the richest people in all Flo-
rence; for I am informed, by a very credible person, that there
is a stone in Mugnone, which makes those that carry it about
them invisible : therefore I wish that we should go and look
for it, before any one else finds it. We shall certainly meet
with it, for I know it very well ; and when we have it, what
else have we to do but to put it in our pockets, and so go to
the bankers' shops, and carry away what money we please ?
Nobody will see us, and we shall grow rich all at once, with-
out spending our whole lives in daubing walls."

Bruno and Buffalmacco were fit to burst with laughter, yet
they looked at each other witli a kind of surprise, and highly
commended their friend's wisdom. When Buffalmacco asked,
what the name of it was ? Calandrino, having no great me-
mory, had forgot that ; therefore he said, " What have we to
do with names, so long as we know the virtues ? I think we
should go look for it immediately." " Then," quoth Bruno,
" what sort of stone is it?" " They are of all sizes," he re-
plied, " but generally black; therefore I am opinion that we
should pick up all the black stones we see, till we meet with
the true one : so let us lose no time."

" Very right," quoth Bruno, "you talk mighty well; but
yet I do not think this is a fit time, for the 'sun is now very
hot, and shines forth with such lustre, that those stones may
appear whitish at present, which are black in a morning : be-
sides, many people are now abroad, who seeing us employed
in that manner, may guess at our business, and perhaps get
the stone before us, and we lose all our labour. So that we
had better go about it in the morning, when we can more
clearly distinguish colors ; and on a holiday, because there
will be nobody to see us." They agreed to go out then on
Sunday morning ; and in the mean time he desired they would
speak of it to no one, because it had been told him as a secret.
He afterwards let them know what he had heard of the coun-
try of Bengodi, swearing that every word was truth.

As soon as he had gone, they agreed, between themselves,
what to do ; whilst he was very impatient till Sunday came, when
he arose by daybreak, and called upon them ; and going
through St. Gallo's gate, they went into the plains of Mug-
none, and began to look for this stone. Now Calandrino stole
along before the other two, skipping from one place to another,
where he saw any thing of a black stone, and put them all
into his pockets. And whilst his companions were picking up
here and there one, he had filled his pockets, bosom, and coat
skirts, which he had tucked up for that purpose with his belt.

NOVEL III. 3S1

On this, they seeing him laden, audit being now dinner-time,
one said to the other, "Where is Calandrino?" ': I do not
know," quoth the orher, " but he was here just now," "Then,"
said the first, " I suppose he is gone home to his dinner, and
has left us here upon a fool's errand." " We are rightly ser-
ved," replied the other, " for being so weak as to believe him.
Who but ourselves could ever have thought of finding such
sort of stones here ?" Calandrino, hearing what passed between
them, took it for granted that he had the true stone, and so
was invisible : and being over and above rejoiced, he resolved
to go home without speaking a word, leaving them to follow
if they would. Buffalmacco perceiving his intent, said to
Bruno, " What must we do? Why do not we go likewise?"
Bruno replied, "What should we stay any longer for ? But
I vow and protest he shall put no more tricks upon me; and,
was he as near to me now as he has been all this morning, 1
would give him such a knock on the heel with this pebble,
that he should have cause to remember it ;" and as lie was
speaking the words, he hit him a stroke which made him jump
again ; yet Calandrino held his peace, and got along as fast as
he could. Buffalmacco then taking another stone, said, " And
I would give him a blow over the back with this;" and so
they kept pelting him all the way, even to the gate of St. Gallo.
when, throwing the rest of their stones down, they let the
guards into the secret, who humored the thing, and let
him pass, as if they had not seen him. So he went on, with-
out stopping, to his own house, which was near to the mills ;
and fortune was so favorable to this jest of theirs, that nobody
said a word to him all through the city ; and indeed he saw
but few persons, because they were mostly at dinner. Coming
thus laden home, he met his wife at the top of the stairs, who
being provoked at his long stay, fell upon him in a violent
manner, saying, " The devil sure has possessed the man, that
he will never come home till every body has dined." Which
when he heard, and being sensible that he was now seen, he
began, full of wrath and vexation, to say, " O ! thou wicked
woman, art thou there ? Thou hast undone me ; but I will be
revenged on thee for it." And throwing down all his stones,
he ran violently at her, and beat her most unmercifully. In
the mean time his two friends, after they had laughed a little
with the guards at the gate, followed him at a distance to his
house ; and being at the door, heard him beating his wife
and seeming as if they were just come there, they called aloud
to him, whilst he, ail in a heat, and weary, looked out of the
window, and desired them to come up : this they did, seem-
ingly much out of temper, and seeing the stairs covered with
stones, and she beaten and bruised it one corner of the room,
and he in another, all unbuttoned, and like a man quite spent,
they said," Why, how now Calandrino ! What are you going

382 EIGHTH DAY.

to build, that you make all this preparation ? And you,
Madam, how comes it to pa-ss that you are so misused ?" But
he, quite fatigued, and vexed also for his supposed loss, was
able to make them no answer. On which Buffalmacco sa'.d
again, " Calandrino, if you were angry with any other person,
you ought not to have made a jest of us, as you have done, in
leaving us yonder like a couple of fools ; where you carried
us to seek for a precious stone, and then went away without
saying a work : but assure yourself, you shall serve us so no
more." He replied, after much ado, "My friends, do not be
in a passion ; the case is different from what you imagine.
Indeed I found the stone; and observe, I pray, whether it
was not so. When you inquired after me the first time, I was
then close to you ; and as you were coming away without see-
ing me, I then walked before you ;" and relating every thing
that they had said and done upon it, he added, " And as I
was coming through the gate, laden with these stones, the
guards, though they examine every one, let me pass'unmolested :
besides, I met with divers of my friends in the street, who are
continually teasing me to go in and drink with them, but not
one of them said a word, because they never saw me. At
last, when I came home, 1 met with this devil of a woman
here, who straight-way saw me, because women, you know,
make every thing lose its virtue ; and so I, who was upon the
point of being the happiest man in Florence, am now the
most unfortunate ; and it was upon that account that I beat
her, and I could tear her to pieces for it;" and he was going
to beat her over again : whilst they, seeing all this, seemed
to wonder very much, and began to affirm the same thing,
though they were fit to die with laughing. But when he was
going to beat her a second time, they interposed, telling him,
that she was not to blame in the case, for that he should have
given her notice to keep out of the way all that day ; and that
this was owing either to his ill-fortune, or else it was a judg-
ment upon him for deceiving his friends ; for after lie knew
that he had found the stone, he ought to have told them of it.
At last, with great difficulty, they reconciled them, and leaving
him as yet much out of sorts, and with his house full of stones,
departed.

S83

THE EIGHTH DAY-

NOVEL IV.

The provost of the church of Fiesole is in love with a lady ivho
has no liking to him ; and he, thinking that he is with her, is
all the time with her maid, when lier brothers bring the bishop
thither to witness it.

Eliza's novel was ended, when the queen, without delay,
turned to Emilia, who began in this manner: —

It will appear from our preceding novels, that the priests,
friars, and the rest of the clergy, have contributed their full
share to our diversion : but as so much can hardly be said,
but something may be added, I shall, therefore, tell you a
story of a certain provost, who had a mind to make a lady
love him, whether she would or not, and who accordingly
treated him as he deserved.

Fiesole, the summit whereof you may descry from this
place, was once a great and ancient city, and, though now in
ruins, had always its bishop, and so it has still. Adjoining to
the cathedral, in a little house of her own, lived a certain wi-
dow lady for the greatest part of the year, and along with her,
two of her brothers, both very worthy gentlemen. Now, as
she went constantly to church, it happened that the provost
fell so much in love with her, that he was never easy but in
her company ; and in length of time he had the assurance to
speak to her, entreating the same kind and tender regard for
him. This provost it is true, was something ancient, but yet
of a juvenile disposition : he was so proud also and haughty,
and did every thing with so ill a grace, that he was disagree-
able to all the world. This lady in particular had an utter
aversion to him ; wherefore, she very prudently replied, " Sir,

384 EIGHTH DAY.

I am much obliged to you for your gracious offer, but we should
have regard to both our characters in this case. You are my
spiritual father, a priest also, and in years; all which conside-
rations should inspire you with different sentiments : on the
other part, I am past a child, being, as you see, in my widow-
hood, and, therefore, more discretion will be expected from
me ; for which reason I must beg your pardon, resolving to
have nothing to do with you in the affair you mention." The
provost, no way dismayed with one denial, ceased not his soli-
citations, as well by letters as word of mouth, every time he
saw her at church, till she, growing weary of his impertinence,
resolved to rid herself of him in such a manner as he deserved,
since she saw there was no other way ; but yet she would do
nothing without first consulting her brothers; when, letting
them know his design upon her, and what she meant to do,
and having free leave from them, she went in a few days to
church as usual. When he saw her come, he went familiarly
to meet her, and she received him with an open countenance,
retired purposely apart with him. and fetching a deep sigh,
said, " I have often heard, Sir, that there is no fort so strong
but it may be taken, which 1 now find to he my own case, for
you have so beset me with complaisance and love, that I have
been forced to break my resolution, and am now disposed to
be at your service." He replied, with a great deal of joy,
" Madam, I hold myself much obliged to you, and, to tell you
the truth, I have often wondered how you could hold out so
long, especially as I never met with any thing like it before.
Nay, I have said, that if women were made of silver, they
would not be worth one farthing, because there is none of
them wovdd be able to stand the test. But tell me, when can
we be together?" She replied, " Sweet Sir, it may be when-
ever you please, as I have no husband to inquire after me at
nights; but I cannot think of a place?" " How so ?" he re-
plied ; "why not in your own house?" She made answer,
" Sir, you know I have two brothers, who have company most
evenings, and our house is very small, so that it is impossible
for you to come there, unless you could submit to be like a
dumb person, and in the dark also : if you will consent to
that, it may be done, because they never come into my cham-
ber ; but yet theirs is so near to mine, that the least whisper
is heard." " Madam," quoth he, " never mind it for one or
two nights, till I can think of some more convenient place."
She replied, " Sir, that is just as you please ; but I beg of you
that it may be a secret." " Madam," said he, " make no
doubt of that ; but, if possible, let it be this evening."
" With all my heart," said she ; and directing him how and
when he was to come, she left him, and went home. Now
she had a maid not over young, and the most ugly creature
that ever was born ; for she had a flat nose, wry mouth, great

NOVEL IV. 385

thick lips, black rotten teeth, sore eyes, with a complexion
green and yellow, like a Mulatto ; besides all this, she was
both lame and crooked, and her name was Giuta, but, having'
such a miserable countenance of her own, she was called, by
way of derision, Ciutazza (i. e, Trull) ; nor was her temper
one jot more amiable than her person. She called this maid
to her, therefore, and said, " Ciutazza, if thou wilt do a little
job for me, I will give thee a new gown." " Madam," quoth
she, " give it me, and I will go through tire and water to serve
you." " I mean," said the lady, " to have thee sleep with a
man this very night in my bed ; but be sure you do not speak
a word, for fear my brothers should hear thee in the next
room ; and in the morning thou shalt have it." "To oblige
you, Madam," she replied, " I would sleep with half a dozen."
So in the evening the provost came, according to their agree-
ment, whilst the lady's brotners were in their own room, as
she had directed, where they took care that he should hear
them ; and the provost went silently into her chamber in the
dark, as did also Ciutazza, and to bed they went. As soon as
this was done, she told her brothers, and left them to do the
rest, as they had before resolved. Accordingly they went
secretly to the piazza, when fortune was more favourable to
their design than they could have expected, for they met the
bishop coming to their house to pay them a visit. And he
having told them his intention, they turned back with him,
and shewed him into a court, as it was in the summer ; and
after they had lighted up the candles, and were seated together
to a glass of wine, one of the young gentlemen said, " My
lord, since you are so kind to do us this favour of your own
accord, as we were going to invite you, we desire you would
please to see a curiosity which we have ready to shew you."
The bishop consented, and one of them, taking a candle, led
the way into the chamber where the provost and Ciutazza
wvre in bed, when they found them asleep in each other's
arms. The provost awoke upon this, ashamed and frightened
to death, and hid his head under the bed-clothes, whilst the
bishop rallied him severely, and made him put his head out,
that he might see whom he had got in bed with him. When
he, finding how the lady had served him, and being sensi-
ble of the utter shame he had incurred, was the most mis-
erable man alive. And having put on his clothes again,
by the bishop's order, he was sent under a guard to his
own house, to undergo a penance equal to his crime. The
bishop then desired to know how it happened, and they
related every particular, on which he highly commended both
the lady and her brothers, who, rather than imbrue their
bands in a clergyman's blood, had dealt with him according
to his merits, in a different manner. He ordered him, there-
fore, a penance for forty days, but love and disdain made
2 L

386 EIGHTH DAY.

him mourn nine days more ; and, for a long time after, he
could never go along the street, but the boys would point at
him, and say, "Yonder is the priest that lay with Ciutazza;"
which was such a mortification, that he was almost distracted.
Thus the good and prudent lady freed herself from the pro-
vost's importunities, and the girl obtained her reward.

387

THE EIGHTH DAY.

NOVEL V.

Three young sparks play a trick with a judge, whilst he is sitting
upon the bench hearing causes.

The lady in Emilia's novel was highly commended for what
she had done, when the queen looked towards Philostratus,
and said, " It is now your turn to speak." He consequently
began thus : —

A young gentleman, mentioned some time* since by Eliza,
viz. Maso del Saggio, makes me pass over a story which I
meant to have told you, in order to relate one of him, and
certain of his friends ; which, though a little unseemly, may
make you laugh nevertheless, and so I shall venture to report
it.

You must all have heard that we have often had magis-
trates come hither from the marquisate of Ancona, the most
paltry people imaginable, and so extremely miserable and
covetous, that they have brought fellows along with them by
way of judges and notaries, who seem to have been rather
taken from the plough-tail, or out of a cobler's shop, than the
schools of the law. Now there was a certain person came once
as Podesta, and amongst the judges that attended him was
one Nicola da san Lepidio, whose aspect bespoke him rather
a tinker than anything else, and who was deputed with the
rest of the judges to hear criminal causes. And as it happens
that people frequently go to those courts who have no busi-
ness, so it chanced that Maso del Saggio was there in quest
of one of his friends ; and being where this Nicola was sitting,
he thought him some strange bird that he had never seen be-
fore, and began to take a more perfect view of him. He had
a greasy fur cap on, with an ink-horn hanging at his girdle,

SS8 EIGHTH DAY.

and a gown shorter than his under coat ; but what appeared
the most comical of all was, that his breeches came down to
his ancles, and yet they were so scantily made, that he could
not keep them buttoned, but they were constantly open all
before. Such a figure as this soon made Maso forget what he
had come about ; and meeting with two of his companions,
the one named Ribi, and the other Matteuzzo, people of as
much humor as himself, he said to them, " You will oblige
me very much if you will go into the court along with me, for
I can shew you the oddest figure perhaps that ever you saw:"
so he carried them to see the judge and his breeches. As soon
as they came into the court, they fell a laughing, and observing
upon a nearer approach, that the boards on which he set his
feet were so broken that a man might easily put his hand and
arm up, he added, " I wish you would let us pull his breeches
down entirely, for it may be easily done.'" They saw at once
which way he meant, and having agreed about it, they came
thither again the next morning. And the court being crowded
with people. Matteuzzo crept privately under the bench where
the judge was sitting. Whilst Maso went one side, and took
hold of his gown, as Ribi did on the other, and began to cry out,
" For Heaven's sake, my lord, hefore this fellow goes away,
will you order him to restore me a pair of shoes which he has
stolen from me, and now denies it, though I saw him in the fact,
and it is not a month since he had them new soled?" Ribi,
on the other part, bawled aloud, "My lord, pray do not believe
him, for he is a most intolerable villian ; and because I came
to demand a wallet that he had stolen from me, he has trumped
up this story of his shoes. If you will not believe me, I can
bring Trecca, my neighbour, and Grassa, the woman that sells
tripes, and the person that sweeps St. Mary's church, who saw
him as he came out of the country." But Maso made such a
clamor on the other side, that he would not let Ribi be heard,
and Ribi cried out likewise. The judge standing up to hear
what each had to say, Matteuzzo took that opportunity to put
his hand up between the boards, and laid hold of his breeches,
which came down immediately, as he happened to be lean and
thin about the crupper ; whilst he, perceiving what had hap-
pened, and not knowing the reason, would have pulled his
gown before him to have concealed it, and he endeavored to
sit down again : but Maso held him up on one side, and Ribi
on the other, crying out, " My lord, you do me great injustice
not to attend to what I say, and to turn your back upon me,
without giving me the hearing (for there were no indictments
in writing for such trivial cases): And they kept him in that
manner, till all the people in the court saw that he had his
breeches about his heels. In the mean time Matteuzzo had
stolen away undiscovered ; and Ribi, thinking that he bad now
done enough, said, " I will appear elsewhere for justice, I vow

NOVEL V. 389

to heaven ;" and Maso let go on the other part also, say mo-,
" Some time or other I shall find you inore at leisure than ym
have been this morning." Thus they parted different ways,
and got out of the court as fast as they could. Whilst the
judge, drawing up his breeches befcre all the people, and being
now sensible of the trick that had been put upon him, began,
to inquire where those two men were gone, that had been com-
plaining to him about their shoes and their wallet ; and hear-
ing nothing of them, he swore that he would know whether it
was a custom at Florence to pull a judges breeches down as he
was administering justice. The Podesta also was in a great
rage about it, till being told by some of his friends that this
was done only to let him see the people all took notice, that,
instead of bringing judges, he had brought some paltry scoun-
drels among them, to make a better trade of it, he thought it
best to hold his tongue. Consequently nothing farther was
said about it at that time.

2 l 2

390

THE EIGHTH DAY.

NOVEL VI.

Bruno and Buffalmacco steal a pig from Calandrino, and make
a charm to find out the thief, with pills made of ginger and
some sack ; giving him, at the same time, pills made of aloes :
whence it appeared that he had it himself, and they make him
pay handsomely, for fear they should tell his wife.

Philostratus's novel was no sooner ended, which
made them all very merry, but the queen turned to Philomena,
who accordingly began thus : —

As Philostratus was led to the last story, by the mentioning
the name of Maso, in like manner has the novel concerning
Calandrino and his two companions brought to my mind
another relating to the same nersons, which will, I think, afford
you pleasure. Who those people were it would be needless to
say, because you had enough of that before. Therefore I
shall begin with telling you that Calandrino had a little farm
not tar from Florence, which came to him in right of his wife;
and, amongst his other goods there, he used to have a pig fat-
ted every year, and some time in December he and his wife
went always to kill and salt it for the use of the family. Now
it happened once, she being unwell at the time, that he went
thither by himself to kill this pig : which Bruno and Buffal-
macco hearing, and knowing she was not to be there, they
went to see a priest in the neighbourhood, a great friend of his,
and to be with him for a few days. Now he had killed the
pig the very day they came thither, and seeing them along
with the priest, he called them, and said, " You are kindly
welcome, gentlemen ; I would gladly have you see what a
manager 1 am." And, taking them into the house, he shewed
them this pig. They saw that it was fat, and were told by
him that it was to salt for his family. When Bruno said, "Go,
you fool you ! you had better sell it, for us to spend the money,
and then tell your wife that it is stolen." " No," said Calan-
drino, " she will never believe it ; and besides, she would go
near to turn me out of doors. Trouble me then no farther
about any such thing, for I will never do it." They said a

NOVEL VI 391

great deal more to him, but all to no purpose ; at length he
invited them to supper, but did it in such a manner that they
refused to go ; and, after he was gone away, said one to the
other, " Suppose we steal this pig from him to-night."^ "How
is it possible?" replied the other. " O," quoth the first, "I
know well enough how to do it, if he does not remove it in
the mean time horn the place where we just now saw it."
''Then let us do it," said the second, " andcafterwards we and
the parson will make merry over it."

The priest assured them, that he should like it of all things.
" We must use a little art," quoth the first ; "you know how
covetous he is, and how freely he drinks always when it is at
others' cost. Let us get him then to the tavern, where the
parson shall make a pretence of treating us all, out of com-
pliment to him ; he will soon get drunk, and then the thing
will be easy enough, as there is nobody in the house but him-
self." This they did, whilst he, finding that the parson was
to pav, took his glasses off pretty freely, and getting his dose,
walked home betimes, and left the door open, thinking that it
was shut, and so went to bed. Buffalmacco and Bruno went
from thence to sup with the priest, and as soon as supper was
over, they took proper materials with them to get into the
house ; but finding the door open, they earned off the pig,
and went to bed likewise. Calandrino, as soon as he had slept
his wine off. arose in the morning, and coming down stairs,
and finding the door open, and his pig gone, he began to in-
quire of people if they knew any thing of the matter, and
receiving no tidings of it, he made a terrible outcry, saying,
" What must I do? somebody has stolen my pig." Bruno
and Buffalmacco were no sooner out of bed, but they went to
his house to hear what he would say ; and the moment he saw
them, he roared out, " O, my friends, my pig is stolen !" Upon
this Bruno whispered him, and said, « Well, I am glad to see
you wise once in your life." "Alas!" quoth he, "it is too
true." Bruno said, " Keep still in the same story, and make
a noise whilst every one believes you." He now began to
bawl louder, and sa'id, " Indeed ! I vow and swear to you that
it is stolen." " Right," quoth the other, " be sure you let
every body hear you, that it may appear so." " Do you
think," said he, "that 1 would forswear myself about it?
May I be hanged this moment if it is not so." " How is it
possible?" quoth Bruno; ,' I saw it but last night; never
imagine that I can believe it." " It is so, however," answer-
ed he, " and I am undone : I know not how to go home again,
for my wife will never believe me, and I shall have no peace
this twelvemonth." " It is a most unhappy thing," said Bru-
no, " if it be true ; but you know I taught you to say so last
nighcj and you should not make sport both with your wife and
us°at the same time." At this he began to roar out afresh

392 EIGHTH DAY.

saying, " Good God ! you make me mad to hear you talk ; I
tell you once for all that it was stolen this very night." " Nay
if it be," quoth Buffalmacco, " we must think of some way to
get it back again. And what way must we take," said he,
"to find it?" " Depend upon it," replied the other, "that
nobody came from the Indies to steal it ; it must be some-
where in your neighbourhood, and if you could get the people
together, I could make a charm with some bread and cheese,
that would soon discover the person." "True," said Bruno,
" but they would know in that case what you are about : and
the person that has it would never come near you." " How
must we manage then?" quoth the other. " Oh," replied
Bruno, " you shall see me do it with some pills of ginger, and
a little wine, which I will ask them to come and drink. They
will have no suspicion what our design is, and we can make a
charm of these, as well as of the bread and cheese." " Very
right, quoth the other. " Well, what do you say, Calandrino?
Have you a mind we shall try it ?" " For Heaven's sake do,"
he said : " where I only to know who the thief is, I should be
half comforted." " Well then," quoth Bruno, " I am ready
to go to Florence for the things, if you will but give me mo-
ney." He happened to have a few shillings in his pocket,
which he gave him. Accordingly Bruno went to a friend's
house at Florence, and bought a pound of ginger made into
pills, and he got two pills of aloes, which had a private mark
that he should not mistake them, being all candied over with
sugar ; and buying a flask of good sack also, he returned to
Calandrino, and said, "To-morrow you must take care to
invite every one that you have the least suspicion of : it
is a holiday, and they will be glad to come, and we will com-
plete the charm to-night, and bring the things to your house
in the morning, whilst, upon your account, I will take care
then to do and say what is necessary upon such an occasion."
Calandrino, did so, and in the morning he had all the people
in the parish almost together under an elm-tree in the church-
yard, when his two friends brought the pills and wine, and
making them stand round in a circle, Bruno said to them,
" Gentlemen, it is fit that I should tell you the reason of your
being summoned here in this manner, to the end, if anything
should happen which you do not like, that I be not blam-
ed for it.

"You must know, then, that Calandrino had a pig stolen last
night ; and, as some of the company here must have taken it,
he, that he may find out the person, would have every man
take and eat one of these pills, and drink a glass of wine af-
ter it; and whoever the guilty person is, you will find he will
not be able to get a bit of it down, but it will taste so bitter
that he will be forced to spit it out : so that, to prevent such
open shame, he had better, whoever he is, make a secret con-

NOVEL VI. 393

fession to the priest, and I will proceed no farther." All the
people present shewed a readiness to taste ; so placing them
all in order, he gave every man his pill, and coming to Calan-
drino, he gave one of the aloe pills to him, which he straight-
way put into his mouth, and no sooner did he begin to chew
it, but he was forced to spit it out. Every one was now atten-
tive to see who spit his pill out, and whilst Bruno kept go-
ing round, taking no notice, he heard somebody say behind
him, " Hey-day ! what is the meaning of its disagreeing so
with Calandrino ?" When, turning suddenly about, and see-
ing that Calandrino had spit it out, he said, "Stay a little,
honest friends, and be not too hasty in judging ; it may be
something else that has made him spit, and therefore he shall
try another." So he gave him the other aloe pill, and then
went on to the rest that were unserved. But if the first was
bitter to him, this he thought much more so: however, he en-
deavored to get it down as well as he could, but it was impos-
sible ; it made the tears run down his cheeks, and he was
forced to spit it out at last, as he had done the other. In the
mean time Buffalmacco was going about with the wine; but
when he and they all saw what Calandrino had done, they be-
gan to call out, and say that he had robbed himself ; and
some of the people were greatly incensed at him for it. And
after they were all departed, Buffalmacco said, " I always
thought that you yourself were the thief, and that you were
willing to make us believe it was stolen, in order to keep
your money in your pocket, as we should expect a treat upon
the occasion." Whilst he, who had yet the taste of the aloes
in his mouth, fell a swearing that he knew nothing of the
matter. "Tell me truly, then," said Buffalmacco, "did you
not seli it?" This made him quite desperate. When Bruno
said, " I was just now told by one of the company, that you
have a mistress in this neignbourhood to whom you are
very kind, and that he is confident you have given it to
her. You know you once took us to the plains of Mugnone,
to look for some black stones, when you left us in the lurch,
and pretended you had found them ; and now you think to
swear, and make us believe, that your pig is stolen, when
you have either given it away, or sold it. You have put so
many tricks upon us, that we intend to be fooled no more
by you. Therefore, as we have had a deal of trouble in
the affair, you shall make us amends, by giving us two cou-
ple of fowls, unless you mean that we should tell your wife."
Calandrino now perceiving that he was not to be believed, and
being unwilling to have them add to his troubles, by bringing
his wife upon his back, was forced to give them (he fowls,
which they took to Florence along with the pork, leaving
him there to complain of the loss he had sustained, and the
injuries that were done him.

391

THE EIGHTH DAY.

NOVEL VII.

A certain scholar is in love with a ividow lady named Helena ;
who, being enamoured of another person, makes the former
wait a whole night for her during the midst of winter, in the
snow. In return, he afterwards contrives that she shall stand
naked on the top of a tower, in the middle of July, exposed to
the sun and all manner of insects.

The company could not help laughing at Calandrino's simpli-
city, though they thought it too hard for him to lose both the
fowls and the pig ; and, the story being ended, the queen or-
dered Parnpinea to begin, which she did in this manner : —

It oftens happens that the mockery which a man intends to
another, falls upon his own head, and therefore it is no mark
of a person's good sense, to take delight in such practices.
In our former novels, we made ourselves very merry with, di-
vers tricks that have been put upon people, where no revenge
has been taken ; but 1 design to move your compassion for a
just return which a certain lady of our city met with, whose
jest recoiled upon herself, and to the hazard of her life, being
mocked in the same manner ; the hearing of which may be
of great service to you, as it will be a caution not to do the
like ; and you will be wise if you attend to it.

There lived, not long since, at Florence, a young handsome
lady, of a good family, as well as plentiful fortune, named
Helena ; who, being left a widow, had for some time contin-
ued so, though she was courted by a young gentleman who
was entirely to her good liking; and, by the assistance of her
favourite maid, they had frequent interviews together. In the
mean time, a young gentleman of our city, who had long stu-
died at Paris, not for the sake of retailing his learning out by
the inch, as we say, as many do, but only to know the reasons

NOVEL VII. 395

of things, and the causes of the same, as becomes a gentle-
man. He, whose name was Rinieri, returning to Florence,
was much respected there, both on account of his rank and
learning, and lived as became a worthy citizen. But, as it
often happens that persons of the most sense and scholarship
are the soonest caught in the snares of love, so it fell out
with our Rinieri. For, being at a feast one day, he met with
this lady, clothed in her weeds, when she seemed to him so
full of beauty and sweetness, that he never saw any one to
compare to her ; and happy he thought the man whom fortune
should bless with her as his wife. And casting his eye to-
wards her once and again, and being sensible that great and
valuable things are not to be attained without trouble, he re-
solved to make it his whole care to please her, and gain her
affection if it were possible. The lady, who did not always
look upon the ground, but thought full as well of herself as
she deserved, throwing her eyes artfully about her, was soon
sensible if anyone beheld her with pleasure, when she imme-
diately took notice of Rinieri ; and she said, smiling to her-
self, " I think I am not come out to-day in vain, for I seem
to have caught a gudgeon." And she would give him now
and then a glance from the corner of her eye, to let him see
she was pleased with him, thinking that the more admirers
she had, of the greater value would her charms be to that
person for whom she had designed them. Our scholar now
began to lay all his philosophy aside, and turned his thoughts
entirely to her ; and learning where she lived, he was contin-
ually passing that way, under one pretence or another, think-
ing thereby to please her ; and the lady, for the reason be-
fore giving, seemed to value herself the more upon it. There-
upon he found means of talking to the maid, desiring her in-
terest and intercession with her mistress, so that he might ob-
tain her favour ; who promised him very fully, and accordingly
she let her lady know it, when she made the greatest jest in
the world of him, and said, " Observe now, this man is come
here to lose the little sense that he went to fetch from Paris,
and he shall have what he looks for. Go, then, and tell him,
that my love is equally great for him but that I must have
regard to my honour which, if he is as wise as he would be
thought, he will like me the better for." Alas ! poor woman,
she knew not what it was to try her wit against a scholar !
The maid delivered her message, upon which the scholar, be-
ing overjoyed, began to press the thing more closely, and to
write letters, and send her presents, which where all received,
though he had no answer in return but what was general ; and
in this manner he was long kept in suspense. At last, hav-
ing related the whole affair to her lover, and he a little un-
easy and jealous about it, to convince him that his suspicion
was ill-grounded, and being much solicited by the scholar,

3% EIGHTH DAY.

shesenthermaid to tell him, that she had yet had no opportunity
to oblige him, since she had made a discovery to him of her love,
hut that the nextday, being Christmas-day, she hoped to he with
him; directing him to come that evening into her court, and she
would meet him there as soon as it was convenient. The scholar,
overjoyed at this, failed not of coining at the time appointed,
when he was put into the court-yard by the maid, and locked
up there to wait for the lady, who had invited her lover to be
with her that night ; and after supping agreeably together,
she let him know what she meant to do, adding, " And you
may now se? how great my regard is for you, as well as for
him of whom you have been so foolishly jealous." The lov-
er listened eagerly to this discourse, being desirous of seeing
some proof of that, for which he, had only her word. Now a
great snow had fallen the day before, and every thing was co-
vered with it, which made it seem colder to our scholar than
otherwise it would have been ; however, he bore it with great
patience, expecting soon to have amends made him. In a
little time she said to her lover, " Let us go into the chamber,
and see out of the window what this man is doing, of whom
you are jealous, and what answers he will make to the maid,
whom I have sent to talk with him." So they went up stairs,
and looking out, without being seen, they heard the girl say-
ing to him, " Sir, my lady is exceeding uneasy, for one of her
brethren has happened to come to see her this evening, and
they have had a great deal of talk together, and he would
needs sup with her, nor is he yet gone away ; but 1 believe he
will not stay long : and for that reason she has not been able
to come to you, but will make what haste she can, and she
hopes you will not take it ill, that you are forced to wait thus."
The scholar, supposing it to be really so, replied, " Pray, tell
your mistress to have no care for me, till she can conveni-
ently be with me, but that I desire she would be as speedy as
possible." The girl then left him, and went to bed. "Weill"
said the lady to her lover, u what think you now ? Can you
imagine, if I had that love for him which you seemed to
apprehend, that I would let him stay there to be frozen to
death?" Thus they talked and laughed together about the
poor scholar, whilst he was forced to walk backwards and for-
wards in the court, to keep himself warm, without having any
thing to sit down upon, or the least shelter from the weather,
cursing the brother's long stay, and expecting that every
thing he heard was the door opening for him — but expecting
in vain. About midnight, she said again to her lover, "Well,
my dear, what is your opinion now of our scholar ? Whether do
you think his sense or my love the greater at this time ? Sure
you will let me hear no more of that jealousy which you seem-
ed to express yesterday ; be convinced that I value you as
much as you can love me. But," continued she, " we will
2 M

NOVEL VII. .397

take another look out, and see whether that fire be extinct or
not, which he used to write me word had well nigh consumed
him." When, going again to the window, they saw him dan-
cing a jig in the snow, to the chattering of his teeth, which
was occasioned by the excessive cold; and she said, " You see
now that I can make people dance, without the music either of
fiddles or bagpipes ; but let us go to the door, and do you
stand still, and listen whilst I speak to him ; perhaps we may
have as much diversion in that manner, as by seeing him."
So she went softly, and called to him through the key-hole,
which made the scholar rejoice exceedingly, supposing that
he was now to be admitted ; and he stepped to the door, and
said, " I am here, Madam ; for Heaven's sake open it, for I
am ready to die with cold." She replied, " Surely you can
never be so starved with this little snow ; it is much colder at
Paris : but I can by no means let you in yet ; for this unlucky
brother of mine, who came to sup with me last night, is yet
with me ; but he will go soon, and then I will come directly
and open the door : it was with great difficulty that I could
get away from him now, to come to you, to desire you would
not be uneasy at waiting so long." " Let me beg of you then,"
said he, " to open the door, that I may stand only under cover,
for it snows fast, and afterwards I will wait as long as you
please." " Alas ! my dear love," quoth the lady, "the door
makes such a noise always in opening, that my brother will
hear it ; but 1 will go and bid him depart first, and then open
it." "Make what haste you can," said the scholar, "and
pray have a good fire ready against I come in, for i am so be-
numbed, that I have almost lost all sense of feeling." "That
is impossible," replied she, "if it be true what you have so
often written to me, that you were all on fire with love ; but I
see now that you were jesting all the time. Have a good
heart, however, for I am going." The scholar now perceiving
that it was all an insult aad mockery upon him, made se-
veral attempts to open the door, looking round also to see if
there was any other way to get out ; but not finding any, he
began to curse the inclemency of the weather, the lady'scruel-
ty, and the long nights, together with his great simplicity ;
and being outrageously exasperated against her, his most vio-
lent love was changed into as rank a hatred, whilst he was
contriving various methods of revenge, which he now
longed as much for, as he had before desired to he with her.
Thus he was kept all night long ; and when day-light began
to appear, the maid, as she had before been instructed, came
dowr into the court, and said, with a show of pity, " It was
very unlucky, Sir, that person's coming to our house last
night, for he has given us a world of trouble, and you are,
in consequence, almost frozen to death. But you know the
reason. Have a little patience ; for what could not be done

398 EIGHTH DAY.

then, may be brought to pass another time. I know very
well that nothing could have given my lady so much uneasi-
ness." The scholar, as wise as he was full of wrath, knowing
that threats serve only as weapons to the person so threatened,
kept all his resentment within his own breast, and, without
shewing himself the least disturbed, said, very submissively,
" In truth, I never had a worse night in my life ; but. I know
very well that your lady is not at all to blame, because she
came to me several times, with a great deal of humanity, to
excuse herself, and comfort me. And, therefore, as you say,
what could not be now, may be another time. Farewell, and
pray give my service to her." So he made what shift he could
to get home, being almost dead, and threw himself upon the
bed to rest, when, upon his awaking, he found he had lost the
use of both his hands and feet. He therefore sent for physi-
cians, and let them into the cause of his illness, and in length
of time they found means to supple the nerves, so that he
could stir his limbs ; but had it not been for his youth, and
the warm weather coming on soon after, he would have had a
hard task to have recovered. Getting them sound and well
again, and keeping his enmity to himself, he yet appeared to
love her as much as ever ; and fortune at last furnished him
with an opportunity of satisfying his revenge: for her lover
had taken a fancy to another lady, and turned her adrift, which
gave her such concern, that she seemed to pine away upon it.
But the maid, who was much grieved, finding no way to com-
fort her for the loss of her spark, and seeing the scholar pass
that way sometimes, had a foolish notion come into her head,
that he might be able to bring him back by some magical ope-
ration, of which he was said to be a great master ; and
she acquainted her with it. The foolish lady, little thinking
that, had he really been a proficient, he would scarcely have
applied his knowledge to do her such a s'ervice, listened to the
girl, and then bid her learn from him whether he was willing
to oblige her, promising any thing in return he should desire.
She delivered the message, when the scholar said, with great
joy, to himself, " Thank Heaven, the time is now come for
me to be revenged of this woman for the injury she did me in
return for my great love." And he replied, " Tell your mis-
tress that she need give herself no trouble, for were her lover
in the Indies I could bring him back to ask her pardon : but
concerning the manner of doing it, that I will impart to her
as soon as she pleases ; and so pray acquaint her from me with
my service."

The girl reported what he said, and they agreed to meet
in St. Lucia's meadow. Accordingly they came thither, and
had much conversation by themselves ; whilst she, forgetting
how he had been served by her, acquainted him with the
whole affair, and desired his assistance. The scholar then

NOVEL VII. 399

said, " Madam, amongst other things that I studied at Paris
was the black art, in which I made a great progress ; but, as
it is a sinful practice, I have made a resolution never to follow
it, either for myself or any other person ; though indeed I
love you so much, that I am unable to refuse either that or
any thing else which you shall require from me : but 1 must
put you in mind, that it is a more troublesome operation than
you may imagine, either to bring a man back to love a wo-
man, or a woman to love a man ; for it is to be done only by
the person concerned, who should have a great presence of
mind ; for all must be in the night, in a solitary place, and
nobody present ; which conditions I do not know whether you
will be able to conform to." She, more enamoured than wise
replied, " My love for him is such, that I would undertake
any thing to have him again, who has abandoned me so
wrongfully ; only tell me in what I must shew that presence
of mind you speak of." Said the scholar then to her, " Ma-
dam, I must make an image of tin in his name whom you
wish to have yours, which I shall send to you ; and immedi-
ately, whilst the moon is in the decline, you must, after your
first sleep, bathe seven times with it in the river ; after which
you must go into some high tree or upon some uninhabited
house-top, and, turning to the north, repeat seven times,
with the same image in your hand, some certain words which
I shall give you in writing ; and then two damsels, the most
beautiful that ever you saw, will appear to you, graciously de-
manding what service you have for them to do, which you
may safely tell them, taking care not to name one person for
another ; when they will leave you : and you may go after-
wards and dress yourself, and depart to your own house, being
assured that before midnight your lover will come with tears
in his eyes to beg your pardon, and from that time he will
never forsake you more." The lady, hearing this story, began
to think she had already recovered her lover ; and she replied,
" Never fear, I can do ail this very well, having the most con-
venient place for the purpose that can be ; for there is a farm
of mine close to the river Arno ; and, now I remember, there
is an uninhabited tower not far off, where the shepherds climb
up sometimes by help of a ladder, to look for their strayed
cattle ; there I can do what you have enjoined me." The
scholar, who knew perfectly both the farm and tower, which
was the very place that he himself had contrived, answered,
" Madam, I never was in that country, and therefore am un-
acquainted with the farm and tower you mention, but if it be
so, it is convenient enough ; so, at a proper time, I will
send the image, and the words you are to repeat ; and I
hope when your point is secured, that you will be mindful of
me in the promise you have made me." She agreed without
fail to . remember him, and so took her leave. The scholar

400 EIGHTH DAY

now concluding that his scheme had taken effect, had an image
made, and wrote out an old tale by way of charm, which he
sent, as soon as he thought it a proper time, to her, letting
her know that he would have it done the following night ; and
he went privately with one servant to a friend's house which
was near, to be ready for what he had designed. She also and
her maid went to her farm, when, pretending to go to bed,
and having sent her maid to sleep, she went to the river side
close to the tower, and looking round to see that nobody was
near, she stripped, and hid her clothes under a bush, and
bathed herself seven times with the image, and then went
naked to the tower with the image in her hand. The scholar,
about the beginning of the night, had hid himself along
with his servant in the sallows near to the place ; when, see-
ing her go past him in that manner, and admiring the extra-
ordinary beauty of her person, he hegan to relent a little, and
to have some thoughts of putting up with the injury. Till calling
to mind her unparralleled inhumanity towards him, and what he
had suffered, there was an end of pity, and he resolved to put his
purpose into execution. So she mounted up into the tower, and
having turned to the north, began to say the words which he had
given her to repeat, whilst he went softly after her, and took
away the ladder, waiting afterwards to see what she would say
and do. She had now said the words over seven times, and
was expecting the two damsels to come ; and thus she waited
until day-light began to appear, when, being weary, as it was
a little cool withal, and sorry also that it had not happened as
the scholar had told her, she began to say to herself, " Per-
haps he has a mind I should pass such a night as I occassion-
ed him to have, but he mistakes the thing, for the nights are
not one third part so long now as they were then, and besides
the cold was infinitely greater at that time." She then deter-
mined to come down before it should be broad day-light ; but
looking for the ladder, she perceived it was taking away.
Upon this her heart failed her, and she fell down in a swoon :
and as soon as she came to herself she began to lament : and,
well knowing that it was the scholar's doing, to blame herself
as well for giving the provocation, as for putting herself into
his power afterwards. Looking then every where to see if
there was any other way to come down, and finding there was
not, she renewed her complaints, saying to herself, ''Unhappy
wretch! what will thy brothers, relations, and all the people
of Florence, say, when it shall be known that thou wast found
here naked ? Thy character will quite be lost ; and say
what thou wilt in thy own vindication, the scholar will con
tradict it. Miserable woman ! to lose both thy lover and thy
honour at the same time!" Here her grief was such, that
she was going to throw herself down headlong; but as the
sun was now rising, she got to one corner of the wall to see

NOVEL VII. 401

if she could discover any shepherd's boy to send for her maid,
when it happened that the scholar, who had been taking a
nap upon the grass awoke and saw her, and she him; on
which he said, "Good morrow, Madam, are the damsels come
yet?" At this she fell a crying most bitterly, and desired he
would come to her, that they might have some talk together
He readily obliged her in that, whilst she lying down, with
only 'Jier head appearing above the battlements, began to
weep and say, " Sir, if I caused you to have a bad night, you
are sufficiently revenged ; for, though it is in July, yet I been
just starved to death, as 1 am naked : not to mention my
grief for the trick I put upon you, and for my own folly in
believing you, that I have almost cried my eyes out of my
head. Therefore I entreat you, not out of any regard for me
for none is due from you ; but for your own sake, as you are
a gentleman, that you would esteem what you have already
made me suffer a sufficient revenge, and that you would order
my clothes to be brought, and let me come down ; nor offer to
take that away from me, which it is not in your power to re-
store ; I mean my honour. For if 1 denied you my company
one night, you may have it as many nights as you please in
return for that one. Let this therefore suffice, and, like a
man of worth, think it enough that you have had me in your
power; nor set your wit against a woman. Where is the
glory in an eagle's vanquishing a poor yielding dove ? Then
for Heaven's sake, and your own honour, shew me some pity !"
The scholar found himself alternately influenced by two dif-
ferent motives ; one while he was moved with compassion to see
her in that distress, but revenge and fuiy at length gained the
superiority, and he replied as follows : — Madam, if my prayers
(though unattended with tears, and such soothing expressions
as yours) could have procured only a little shelter for me the
night that I was dying in your court, all covered with snow,
I could, in that case, easily hear now what you have to say :
but you may remember that you were then with your gallant
entertaining him with my sufferings ; let him come, and bring
your clothes, and the ladder ; for he will be the best guardian
of honour, who has so often had it in keeping. Why do not
you call upon him then I It is his business more than any
other person's; and if he do not succour you, whom will he
regard I You may now see whether your love for him, or
your great understanding, is able to deliver you from my folly;
as you were pleased to make a doubt whether that foliy, or
your love for him was greater. And concerning the offer or
vour person, I desire it not, neither could you withhold it from
me if I did. No, keep it all for your lover; for my own pare
I have had enough of one night. You think to cajole me, by
speaking of my great worth and gentility, and would have me
believe that I shall lessen myself by this usage of you. But
2 M 2

402 EIGHTH DAY

your flattery shall never blind my understanding, as your fair
promises once did ; I now know myself, and can say, that I
never learnt so much all the time I was at Paris, as you taught
me in one night. But, allowing that I am of a generous
disposition, you are no proper object. Amongst savage beasts
as you are, the end of vengeance is death, but with men,
indeed, what you say should be sufficient. Therefore, although
I am no eagle, yet knowing you to be no dove, but rather a
venomous serpent, I shall persecute you with all my might as
an old enemy : though what I do cannot be called revenge,
so properly as chastisement ; for revenge ought to exceed the
offence given, whereas, considering how 1 was served by you,
were I to take away your life, this would not be equal to it,
nor even the lives of a hundred such women as yourself. For
what the devil are you better (setting aside a little beauty,
which a few years will take away from you) than the paltriest
chambermaid ? And yet, no thanks to you, that the life of a
worthy gentleman was not lost as you were pleased just now to
call me, which may be of greater service to the world, than a hun-
dred thousand such lives as yours could ever be, whilst the
world endures. Learn then what it is to mock and abuse
people of understanding, and scholars, and be wiser for the
time to come, if you happen to escape. But if you have such
a desire to come, why do not you throw youself to the ground.
By breaking your neck, if it please Heaven, you may at once
escape the punishment you seem to undergo, and make me
the happiest man in the world. So I have nothing more to
say to you, but that as I have shewed you the way up to this
tower, do you find a way, if you can, to come down as readily
as you could insult me." All the while the scholar was
speaking, was she weeping, whilst the time kept going on,
and the sun rose higher and higher. And when he had made
an end, she said, " Ah ! cruel man! if that unhappy night
still galls you, and my crime appears so heinous, that neither
my youth, my tears, nor my humblest entreaties, can move
you, yet let this last act of mine alone have some weight to
lessen the force of your severity ; consider how I put my
entire confidence in you, and entrusted you with my most se-
cret designs, for without that you would never have had it in
your power to revenge yourself of me, as you desired so much.
Away, then with all this fury, and pardon me this time ; I am
ready, if you will forgive me, and set meat liberty, to abandon
that unworthy young man, and to have you only for my lover
and my lord. And though you make light of my beauty,
esteeming it trifling and transitory, yet it is what other young
gentlemen would love and value, and you may think other-
wise. And, notwithstanding this cruel treatment, I can never
think you could wish to see me dash my brains out before your
face, when I was once so agreeable to you. For Heaven's sake,

NOVEL VII. 403

therefore shew me some pity ; the sun now waxes warm, and
is as troublesome as the coldness of the night." The scholar
then, who held her in talk only for his own diversion, replied,
" Madam, the confidence you reposed in me was out of no re-
gard you had for me, but only to regain your lover ; and you
are mistaken if you think I had no other convenient way to
come at my revenge : I had a thousand others, and had laid a
thousand different snares to entrap you ; so that, if this had
not happened, I must necessarily have taken you in some
other ; nor was there any one but would have been attended
with as much shame and punishment to you as this. I have
made choice of it, therefore, not because you gave me the
opportunity, but that I might gain my end the sooner. And
though they had all failed, yet had I my pen left, with which
I would have so mauled you, that you should have wished a
thousand times a day that you had never been born. The
force of satire is much greater than they are sensible of, on
whom it was never tried. I swear solemnly, then, that I
would have written such things of you, that you should have
pulled your very eyes out for vexation. As to the offer ot
your love, that is needless: let him take you, if he will, to whom
you more properly belong, and whom I now love, lor what he
has done to you, as much as before I hated him. You women
are all for young flighty fellows, without considering that
those people are never content with one mistress, but are
rovi n cr always from one to another, as you have found by ex-
perience. Their greatest happiness is in gaining favours from
you, and it is their utmost glory to publish them. Truly, you
think your love is all a secret, and that nobody but your maid
and I were ever acquainted with it, whilst his neighbourhood
and yours both talk of nothing else ; but it generally happens,
that persons concerned are the last that hear ol such things.
Therefore, if you have made a bad choice, keep to it, and
leave me, whom you have despised, to another lady whom I
have made choice of, one of more account than yourself, and
and who knows better how to distinguish people. As to my
being concerned for your death, if you please, you may make
the experiment. But, as I suppose, you will scarcely humour
me so far, so now I tell you, that if the sun begin to scorch,
you may call to mind the cold you made me endure, and together
they will make a proper temperature." The disconsolate
lady, seeing that all these words tended to some cruel purpose,
began to weep again, and say, " Behold, if nothing that con-
cerns mvself can move you to pity, yet let your love for that
lady whom you say you have met with, who is wiser than I, and
by whom you say you are beloved ; let your regard, I say, for
her, prevail upon you to forgive me, and to bring me my
clothes, that I may dress myself, and go down." The scnolar
fell a laughing at this, and seeing it was about noon, he

404 EIGHTH DAY.

replied, " Lo, I know not how to say to you nay, as you en-
treat me by that lady ; then tell me where they are, and I
will go for them, that you may come down." She was a little
comforted at this, and directed him to the place where she had
laid them : so he went away, and ordered his servant to keep
strict watch that nobody came to her relief till his return; and
in the mean time, he went to a friend's house, where he dined,
and laid himself down to sleep. The lady, conceiving some
vain hopes of being released, had seated herself down in the
utmost agonies, getting to that corner of the wall in which
there was the most shade, where she continued, sometimes
thinking, then again lamenting; this moment in hopes, and the
next altogether in despair of his return with the clothes ; at
last, musing of one thing after another, being quite spent with
grief, and having had no rest the night before, she dropped
asleep. The sun was now in the meridian, darting all its
force upon her naked and most delicate body, as also upon her
head ; so that it not only scorched all the skin that lay exposed,
but cleft it by little and little into chinks, and blistered it to that
degree that it made her awake ; when, finding herself perfectly
roasted, and offering to turn about, it all seemod to rend asunder
like a piece of burnt parchment, that had been kept upon the
stretch. Besides all this, her head ached to that degree as if it
would rivein pieces, which was nowonder. Moreover, the reflec-
tion of the heat against herfeet wasso strong, thatshecould not
rest any where, but kept crying, and moving from place to
place. And, as there was no wind, the flies and hornets were
constantly buzzing about her, striking their stings into the
chinks of her flesh, and covering her over with wounds,
whilst it was her whole employment to beat them off
still cursing herself, her lover, and the scholar. Being thus
harassed by the heat, by insects, by hunger, but much more
by thirst, and pierced to the heart by a thousand bitter reflec-
tions, she got up to see if any body was near, resolving, who-
ever was within call, to beg their assistance ; but even this
comfort her ill fortune had denied her. The labourers
were all gone out of the fields, on account of the heat, though
it happened that nobody had been at work thereabouts all
that day, being employed in threshing their corn at home,
so that she heard nothing but the grasshoppers, and saw the
river Arno, which, by making her long for some of its water,
instead of quenching, only added to her thirst. She saw also
pleasant groves, cool shades, and country-houses, which made
her trouble so much the greater. What can be said more of
this unhappy lady ? She who, the night before, could, by the
whiteness of her skin, dispel even the shade of night, was now-
all brown and spotted, so that she seemed the most unsightly
creature that could be. Being thus void of all hope, and ex-
pecting nothing but death, towards the middle of the after-

NOVEL VII. 405

noon, the scholar happened to awake, when he called her to
mind, and returned to the tower, sending the servant back,
who was yet fasting, to get his dinner. As soon as she saw him,
all weak and miserable as she was, she came and placed her-
self down by the battlements, and said, " O Sir, you are most
unreasonably revenged ; for if I made you freeze almost with
cold, one night in my court, you have roasted and burnt me
for a whole day upon this tower, where I have been at death's
door with hunger and thirst ; I conjure you, therefore, that
you will come up, and bestow that death upon me, which my
heart will not let me inflict upon myself, and which
I entirely covet, to put an end to that pain which I
can no longer endure ; or, if you deny me this favour, that
you would send me up a little water to wash my mouth, my
tears not being sufficierft, such is the drought and scorching
I feel." The scholar was sensible, by her manner of speak-
ing, how weak she was ; he perceived also, by what he saw of
her body, how it was scorched and blistered ; for that reason,
therefore, as well as her entreaties, he began to have a little
compassion, but said, " Vile woman ! thou shalt never meet
with thy death from my hands ; from thy own thou mayest if
thou wilt; and just so much water will I give thee, as thou
gavest me fire, in my extremity. This only grieves me, that,
whilst I was forced to lie in dung for my recovery, thou, ne-
vertheless, wilt be cured with the coldness of perfumed rose
water, and though I was near losing both limbs and life, yet
thou, when stripped of thy skin, wilt appear with fresh beauty,
like a serpent just uncased." " Alas !" quoth the lady," may
only my enemies gain charms in that manner ! But you,
more cruel than any savage beast, how could you bear to tor-
ture me as you have done ? What could I have expected
worse from you, had I put all your relations to death in the
cruelest manner imaginable ? What greater punishment
could be thought of for a traitor, who had been the destruction
of a whole city, than to be roasted in the sun, and then de-
voured by flies ? and not to give me a taste of a little water,
whilst the vilest malefactors, when they are about to suffer, are
not denied even wine. — Now I see you fixed in your barba-
rous resolution, nor any way moved with what 1 have suffered,
I shall wait patiently for my death. The Lord have mercy on
me, and look with a just eye on what you have done !" With
these words she withdrew to the middle of the place, despair-
ing of her life, and ready to faint away a thousand times
with thirst, where she sat lamenting her condition. But it be-
ing towards the evening, and he thinking she had suffered
enough, made his servant take her clothes, wrapped up in his
cloak, and he went with them to her house, where he found
her maid sitting at the door, all sad and disconsolate for her
long absence ; and he said to her, " Pray, good woman, what

406 EIGHTH DAY.

is become of your mistress ?" " Sir," she replied, " I do not
know: I thought to have found her in bed this morning,
where I saw her last night, but she is neither to be found
there, nor any where else, nor do I know what is become of
her. But can you give me any tidings of her ?" " I wish
only," quoth he, " that thou hadst been along with her, that I
might have taken the same revenge of thee that I have had
of her. But depend upon it thou shalt never escape ; I will
so pay thee for what thou hast done, that thou shalt remem-
ber me everytime thou shalt offer to put a trick upon any one."
And then he said to the servant, "Go, carry her clothes, and
tell her she may go for her mistress if she has a mind." The
servant accordingly delivered thenx, with that message, and
the girl knowing them again, and hearing what he said, was
afraid she was murdered, and could scarcely help making an
uproar about it ; so she ran thither, full of grief. Now it
happened that a labourer of hers had lost two of his hogs
that day, and coming near to the tower, to look for them, just
as the scholar was departed, he heard the complaints that the
poor creature was making, so he cried out, "Who makes that
noise ?" She immediately knew his voice, and called him by
his name, saying, " Go, I pray now, and desire my maid to
come to me." The man then knew her, and said, "Alas,
Madam, who has brought you hither? Your maid has been
looking for you all day long. But who could have thought of
finding you in this place?" And he took the sides of the
ladder, and placed them as they should be, binding them
about with osiers : and as he was doing this, the maid came,
and being able to hold her tongue no longer, she wrung her
hands, and fell a roaring out, " Dear Madam, O, where are
you?" She, hearing her, replied, as well as she could,
" Good girl, never stand crying, but make haste, and bring me
my clothes." She was pretty easy when she heard her speak,
and jumping upon the ladder before it was quite made fit, by
the man's help got upon the tower, when, seeing her lie naked
there, burnt like a log of wood, and quite spent, she cried
over her, as if she had been dead. But the lady desired her
to be quiet, and dress her ; and understanding by her that
nobody knew where she was, out the persons who brought the
clothes to her, and the servant that was there, she was a little
comforted, begging earnestly ot tnem to keep it secret. The
labourer now took her upon his back, as she had no strength
to go, and brought her down safely in that manner: whilst
the girl, following after with less caution than was necessary,
slipped her foot, and falling down the ladder, broke her thigh,
which occasioned her to make a most grievous outcry. The
man, after he had set his lady on the grass, went to see what
was the matter with the maid, and finding that she had hd
thigh broke, he laid her down by the lady, who, seeing this

NOVEL VII. 407

addition to her misfortunes, and that she was disabled from
whom she expected most succour, began to lament afresh
and the man, unable to pacify hsr, fell a weeping likewise.
But it being now about sun-set, he took her to his own house,
and brought two of his brethren and his wife back with him
for the maid, whom they carried thither upon a table. Hav-
ing given the lady some water to refresh her, and used all the
kind comfortable words they could think of, she was brought
to her own chamber; and the man's wife gave her a little
bread soaked in water, and undressed and put her to bed. It
was then contrived that they should both be taken t» Flo-
rence that night, and they were. There the lady, who was
never at a loss for invention, cooked up an artful story, which
was believed by her brothers and sisters, and every other al-
most, namely that it was all done by enchantment. Physicians
were sent for, who, with a great deal of pain and trouble to
her, and not without the loss of her whole skin several times
over, cured her of a violent fever, and other accidents attend-
ing it ; and they also set the girl's broken thigh. From
that time she forgot her lover, and was more careful for the
future, both in choosing a spark and in making her sport.
The scholar, also, hearing what had happened to the girl,
thought he had full revenge, and so no more was said about
it. Thus the foolish lady was served for her wit and mockery,
thinking to make a jest of a scholar, as if he had been a com-
mon person, never considering that the greatest part of them
have the devil, as they say, in a string. Then take care,
ladies, how you make your jest, but especially with scholars.

408

THE EIGHTH DAY.

NOVEL VIII.

.Two neighbours are very intimate together; when, one making
very free with the other's wife, the other finds it, out and re-
turns the compliment, whilst the friend is locked up in a chest
all the time.

The lady's sufferings seemed grievous to all that heard them;
though their pity for her was the less, as they judged that she
Jiad in some measure deserved them ; whilst the scholar was
deemed most rigidly ohstinate, and even cruel. But Pampi-
nea having made an end, the queen ordered Flammetta to go
on, who spoke as follows: —

As I suppose you have heen under some concern for the
scholar's severity, it may be proper, I believe, to revive your
drooping spirits with some more cheerful subject. Therefore
I shall tell you a story of a certain young man, who received an
injury with more mildness than he, and returned it with more
moderation. Whence you may learn, that a person ought to be
content if he gives people as good as they bring, without
desiring an unreasonable vengeance, and far beyond what the
provocation which he may have received requires.

Know then, at Siena lived, as I have been told, two young
wealthy citizens, the one named Spinelloccio Tanena, and the
other Zeppa di P/Iino, near neighbours to each other, and as in-
timate together as if they had been brothers : and each had a
very handsome wife. Now it happened that Spinelloccio, going
often to the other's house, whether he was at home or not, be-
came too familiar at last with his wife, which continued some
time before any body perceived it. But Zeppa being at
home one day, without her knowing it, Spinelloccio came to
enquire for him, and being told by her that he was gone abroad,
he began to make free with her as usual. This Zeppa was a
witness to, and gre:it!y troubled at; yet knowing that making
a clamour would no way lessen the injury, but rather add to
his shame, he began to think of some revenge, which should
make no noise abroad, and with which he should yet be content.
Resolving at length what to do, he went into the room after
the friend was gone away, when he found her setting her head-

NOVEL VIII. 409

dress a little to rights, and he said, " What are you doing Ma-
dam?" She replied, ''Do not you see?" "Yes, truly," quoth
he, " and I have seen a great deal more than I could have
wished." So he charged her with the thing, and she came
to an open confession, as it was in vain to deny it, and began
to weep and beg his pardon. He then said to her, " You see
you have been guilty of a very great crime;' if you expect for-
giveness from me, you must resolve to do what I shall enjoin
you, which is to tell Spinelloccio that about the third hour to-
morrow he must find some pretence of leaving me to go to
you, when I will return home ; and as soon as you hear me, do
you make him go into that chest, and lock him up, and after
you have done this, I will tell you the rest. Have no doubt,
however, about it, for I promise you I will do him no harm."
She agreed to do so ; and the next day the two friends being
together at that time, Spinelloccio, who had promised the
lady to be with her then, said to Zeppa, " I am engaged to go
and dine with a friend, whom I would not have wait for me ;
so fare you well." Quoth Zeppa, " It is a long while till din-
ner yet." " Yes," replied the other, "but we have business
to confer about, which requires me to be there in good time."
So he left him, and took a little circuit, and went to the ladv,
and they had no sooner shut themselves in the chamber, but
Zeppa returned ; when she, seeming to be very much fright-
ened, made him go into the chest, as the husband had direct-
ed, and locked him up, and then came out to her husband,
who asked her whether dinner was ready. She replied, " It
will be soon." " Then," quoth he, "as Spinelloccio is gone
to dine with a friend, and left his wife at home by herself, do
you call to her out of the window, to come and dine with us."
She readily obeyed out of fear for herself, and Spinelloceio's
wife came, after much entreaty hearing that her husband was
not to dine at home ; when Zeppa shewed the greatest fond-
ness towards her imaginable, and making a sign for his wife
to go in the kitchen, he took her by the hand, and led her in-
to the chamber, when he made fast the door. Upon this she
began to say, " Alas, Sir, what mean you to do? Is this what
you invite me for ? This the regard you have for your friend ?"
Zeppa then drawing near to the chest where her husband was
shut up, and holding her fast, he said, " Madam, before you
utter any complaints, hear what I am going to tell you : I
have loved your husband as if he had been my brother ;
and yesterday, though he knows nothing of it, I found out
that he has as great an intimacy with my wife as he has with
you. Now I respect him so much, that I intend to take no
other revenge but what is agreeable to the quality of the of-
fence. If you will not consent to this, be assured I shall re-
venge myself in such a manner, that both he and you shall
have cause to repent it." " Well," quoth she, " since your
2 N

4410 EIGHTH DAY

revenge then is to fall upon me, I must be content. Do you
only make my peace with your wife for what I do, in like man-
ner as I am ready to forgive her." He promised to do thatr
and to make her a present also of a jewel ; Spinelloccio, hearing
what passed, was fit to burst with vexation ; and had it not
been that he was prevented by the fear of Zeppa, he would
have clamoured against, and have abused her, even shut up as he
was. But considering again that he had given the provocation,
and that Zeppa had reason for what he had done, and had
behaved courteously and like a friend, he resolved to respect
him more than ever. Coming out of the chamber then together
and she demanding the jewel which he had promised, he called
his wife up, who said only this to her, "Now, Madam, we may
quit scores," and she spoke it with a smile. Quoth Zeppa
then, "Here open this chest," which she did; and he shew-
ed Spinelloccio to his wife. Now it would be difficult to say
which of the two was most confounded, whether the man at
seeing his friend, and knowing that he was pnvy to what he
had done, or the woman at seeing her husband, and being
conscious that he must have heard what had passed over
his head. " Behold," added Zeppa, " this is the jewel ;
I now give it you." Spinelloccio hereupon came out of the
chest, and said, "Well, now we are even; and, as you said be-
fore to my wife, it is best for us to continue friends ;" the other
was content. So they dined very amicably together ; and
the same good understanding remained amongst them for
the time to come.

411

THE EIGHTH DAY,

NOVEL IX.

Master Simon, the doctor, is imposed upon by Bruno and Buffal-
maceo, and made to believe that he is to be one of the company of
rovers, and afterwards they leave him in a ditch.

The communication of wives, mentioned in the last novel,
occasioned a good deal of discourse, when the queen, knowing
it was her turn, began in this manner :

Well did Spinelloccio deserve what he met with from his
friend Zeppa ; and I think they are not to blame who put jests
upon people of their own seeking, and such as they have
really merited, though Pampinea was of a different opinion.
Now as to Spinelloccio, it was no more than his due ; but I
purpose to speak of another, who would needs seek after it,
and I commend those merry fellows for what they did.

This then was a certain doctor of physic, who returned from
Bologna to Florence, strutting in the robes belonging to his
profession, though an ass would have become them as well as
he. We frequently see your citizens, after they have been 10
study at Bologna, come back, one a lawyer, another a physician,
a third a notary, with their long scarlet gowns and furs, with
other things to make a figure ; and to what purpose, every
day's experience shews us. Amongst the rest was one Master
Simon da Villa, more rich in estate than learning, who appear-
ed in his scarlet robes and ermine, calling himself a doctor of
physic, and took a house in the Via del Cocomero. Now,
this Master Simon, being newly come thither, amongst his other
notable qualities, had one, which was to inquire who every
person was that he saw in the street ; and, as though he was
to have compounded his medicines according to the different
gestures and manners of people, he observed and noted all.
But he had cast his eye more particularly upon two painters,
whom we have mentioned before, Bruno and Buffalmacco, who
were always together, and lived in his neighbourhood. And
perceiving that they had less regard for the world than other
people, and were always more cheerful, he asked a great num-
ber of persons about them. Being told then by every one
that they were both poor men, and painters, he could not

412 EIGHTH DAY.

conceive how they could possibly live so merrily in their
poverty, but supposed, as they were cunning fellows, that
they must have some secret way of getting money ; he had a
mind therefore to become acquainted with one or both of them,
and so he happened to fall in with Bruno, who soon seeing to
the bottom of him, made the merest game of him that could
be, and the doctor was wonderfully delighted always in hearing
him talk. And having invited him several times to dinner,
and thinking upon that account he might discourse the more
freely with him, he expressed, at length, his great wonder how
he and Buffalmacco, who were both poor, could yet be so cheer-
ful, and desired to know how they managed in that case.
Bruno could not help laughing to himself, to hear the doctor
put such a simple question, and resolving to give him a suit-
able answer, he said, "There are many people, master, that T
would never tell that to, but as you are a friend, and I know
will keep it secret, I shall be less scrupulous with you. It is
true we live as merrily as you imagine, or perhaps more so,
and yet all we earn or possess will hardly find us salt to our broth,
and I hope you do not think we steal : no, we go a roving,
and bring home with us every thing we can desire ; and thus
it comes to pass that we live so merrily, as you observe."
The doctor wondered what this going a roving could mean,
and desired he would inform him, assuring nim that he would
never reveal the secret. " Alas, Master Doctor," quoth the
other, " what a request is this ! It is too great a secret, and I
shall be ruined if I disclose it." " You may depend upon
what I say," quoth the doctor^ " it shall never go farther for
me." He then, after making abundance of excuses, said,
" Behold, master, the regard I have for your super-excellent
understanding, and the confidence I repose in you is such,
that I can deny you nothing ; therefore I will tell you, if you
will swear to me, as you have just now promised, never to
reveal it." The doctor swore, and swore again. " You must
know then, my dear master," quoth he, "that there was
lately a necromancer in this city, called Michael Scotus,
because he was a Scotchman, who had great honor shewed
him by many of the gentry, few of whom are now living; and
who, being about to leave this place, at their request, left it
in charge with two of his disciples, that they should always
be ready to serve those people who had honored him. Some
therefore they obliged in their love affairs, and some in other
matters. At last being taken with the city, and the manners
of the people, they resolved to make it their place of resi-
dence, when they contracted a friendship with divers persons,
such as were agreeable to their own tempers, without consi-
dering whether those people were rich or poor at that time ;
and to please those friends they established a society of five-
and-twenty persons, who were to meet in some place that was

NOVEL IX. 413

fixed upon by them, twice at least in a month, when every one
was to say what he wanted, and they supplied him with it that
very night. Now my friend and I, as a particular mark of fa-
vor to us, were admitted into this society. And it is
wonderful to behold the costly furniture in the room
where we sit, the tables spread in a most royal manner, with the
great number of goodly servants both men and women at every
one's command ; the basins, flagons, and cups also both of
gold and silver, in which we eat and drink, and the great va-
riety and plenty of victuals which are set before us. It is
impossible for me to tell you what different musical instru-
ments there are, and the delightful melody that we hear; or
what numbers of wax candles are burnt at one of these feasts,
any more than the immense quantities of sweetmeats consum-
ed, and the very rich wines which are then drunk. Now I
would not have you suppose, my dear friend, that we appear
in the same dress that you behold. No, there is not one of us
seems less than an emperor, so richly are we attired. But of
all our pleasures, that of having the ladies' company is the
greatest, and who are brought to us, according to every one's
desire, from all quarters of the world. There you may see
the great lady of Barbanicchia, the Queen of Baschia, the
wife to the great Sultan, the Empress of Osbech, the Cianci-
anfera of Norveca, the Semistante of Berlinzone, and the
Scalpedra of Narsia. But what need have I to recount so
many ? There are all the queens in the world, even to Pres-
ter John's lady. Then observe now: after we have eaten and
drunk, and taken a dance or two, every one selects that par-
ticular lady, whom he had desired should be sent for : and you
must know that the chambers we retire to are a perfect para-
dise, and no less odoriferous than a perfumer's shop ; the beds
also that we lie in are as beautiful as the very best that be-
longs to the Duke of Venice. Do you then judge of our
happiness. But none seem to fare better at these times than
my friend and I ; for he generally has the Queen of France,
and I have the Queen of England, who are the two most beauti-
ful ladies in the whole wTorld, and they like no other person so
well as us. Imagine, therefore, if we have not reason to be
more merry than other people ; for, besides having the affec-
tion of two such queens, if we want a thousand or two thou-
sand florins at any time, they immediately supply us. And
this we call going a roving ; "for as the corsairs rob and plun-
der every one they meet, so do we, with this difference only,
that they make no restitution, which we do as soon as it has
served our purpose. Thus. I have told you, master, what wTe
mean by going a roving; you may easily see how great a se-
cret it is, and so I need say no more to you upon that head."

The doctor, whose knowledge reached no farther, perhaps,
than to cure children of the itch, gave the same credit to this
2 n 2

414 EIGHTH DAY.

story as he would have done to the most established truth,
and became as desirous of being: admitted into this society,
as be would have been of any thing in the world : so be tokl
the other, that he did not wonder to see him so cheerful ; and
could scarcely refrain from asking the favor of being accepted
among them, deferring it only till he could do it with a better
grace. From that time therefore, he was continually inviting
him to dine and sup ; and their intimacy was such, that the
doctor scarcely knew how to live without him. And in return
for these favors, Bruno, that he might not appear ungrateful,
painted in his hall the whole story of Lent, an Agnus Dei
over his chamber-door, and an urinal over the door to the
street, that people who wanted his advice might know where
to have it. He painted also in a little gallery the battle of
the cats and the rats ; which the doctor thought a pretty
fancy. And some nights, when he happened to sup elsewhere,
he would say, at his return, I was lust night at our meeting,
when, being displeased with the Queen of England, I ordered
the gumedra of the great cham of Tartary to be brought me."
" Pray what does that word mean ?" quoth the doctor ; " I do
not understand such names." "I do not wonder at that,"
said Bruno ; "for Porcograsso and Vannacena take no notice
of them." " You mean," quoth the doctor, " Ipocrasso and
Avicenna." "Very likely," said Bruno; "but I know as
little of those names as you know of mine. But gumedra is
no more than empress. O ! you would think her a fine wo-
man ; she would soon make you forget all your recipes and
your plaisters." Talking frequently in this manner to excite
him the more, and the doctor thinking, one night as he held
the candle for him whilst he was painting, that he was now
under sufficient obligations to grant any favors he should de-
sire, he resolved to open his mind, as they were alone, and he
said, " Bruno, there is nobody that I value so much as your-
self ; nor is there any thing you could ask, but what I should
be ready to oblige you in ; then be not surprised at my ma-
king one request of you. You know, not long since, you
were telling me of your meetings ; now there is nothing I de-
sire so much as to make one amongst you, and for a very good
reason; for I will bring the prettiest girl into your company
that you have seen a long time ; to whom I have devoted my
entire love ; and you must know I once offered her ten pieces,
and she refused them. Tell me then, I pray you, what I must
do to be admitted, and do you take care that I be so, and I
promise that you shall always find me your true and trusty
friend. You may observe that my person is proper and good,
and I am a doctor of physic too, and perhaps you have none
of that profession among you ; moreover I know a great many
pretty things, and can sing divers pretty songs, as you shall
hear." Here he began one, whilst Bruno had much ado to

NOVEL IX. 415

keep his countenance, and after he had done he asked him
what he thought of it. "Most certainly," replied he, "the
best violin is no way comparable." " Then" quoth the doc-
tor, " to this and many other qualifications, too tedious to re-
late at present, I may add, that my father was a gentleman
though he lived in a country village, and my mother of the Val
lecchio family. Besides, there is no physician in Florenc
has better clothes, or a more complete library than my
self ; and I give you my word, that if you be sick at any time
I will cure you for nothing." Bruno, to make him believe
that he was more intent upon his painting, replied, "Pray,
sir, snuff the candle, and let me finish these rat's tails, and then
I will talk with you." When, seeming much displeased with
the request, he said, "Oh, Sir, I have received great favours
from you, I must confess, and there is nobody I would serve
sooner ; but you ask too much. Now though I cannot direct-
ly oblige you in what you desire, yet 1 can put you into a
method whereby 1 am very sure you will suceced." " Then
tell me," quoth the doctor ; " you dont know how well I can
keep a secret. Signor Guasparruolo da Saliceto, when he was
a judge, entrusted me with many things." "Well," quoth
Bruno, " if he trusted you, I may do it more securely. The
means you are to use are as follow : we have a captain and
two counsellors, who are chosen every six months ; and next
Christmas Buffalmacco will certainly be the captain, and I
one of the counsellors. Now it is in the captain's power to ad-
mit you if he pleases, therefore you should immediately get ac-
quainted with him. I know he will be very fond of you,
as he is of all men of understanding; and after you have been
often in his company, and ingratiated yourself with him, you
may then ask the favoiK, and. he will not know how to refuse
you. I have given him a character of you already, and he
has conceived a great regard for you ; and when this is
done, you may leave the rest to me." "You say well," quoth
the doctor, " if he delights in people of sense and learning he
will not miss of his aim : I have enough of both to furnish a
whole city, and yet leave sufficient for myself." When the
matter was thus agreed, Bruno went and related the whole to
Buffalmacco, who was very impatient to let the doctor have
what he sought for. Now the doctor, who was eager to be con-
cerned, found it no hard matter to get acquainted with him ;
and he began to treat them, both noon and night, with every-
thing that was nice and elegant, so that they lived entirely upon
him; telling him, at the same time, that it was a favour they
would shew to nobody else. At length, when he thought it
a fit time, he made the same request to Buffalmacco, that
he had done before to Bruno, who seemed much concerned,
and made a great clamour at his friend, threatening to break
his head for betraying those secrets to the doctor. But the doc-

416 EIGHTH DAY.

tor excused him very much, protesting that he had it from
enother person.

On this he seemed a little more pacified, and said, "Dear
doctor, I plainly see you have been at the university and know
how to keep your mouth shut upon occasion ; and I farther
tell you, that you have not learned your A, B, C, in the man-
ner most blockheads do : moreover, if I am not mistaken,
you were born on a Sunday ; and though Bruno tells me
that your study has been physic, yet to me it seems as if you
had learned to captivate men, which you do by your great
sense and manner of speaking, far beyond any that ever I
saw." Here the doctor interrupted him, and said, turning to
Bruno, " This it is to have to do with people of understanding ;
there are few that could have penetrated into the depth of
my designs so easily as this worthy man has done. You did
not take my meaning half so soon ; but let him know what
I said upon your telling me that he delighted in people of
sense. — Do not you think I spoke truth at that time ?" " No
doubt,'" replied the other. Then said he to Buffaimacco,
"What would you heve said, had you seen me at Bologna,
where were none, either great or small, doctor or scholar,
but doated on me, so much did they profit by my wise dis-
courses 1 Nay, more than that, I never spoke but they all
laughed, so highly were they pleased to hear me. And when
I came away, they expressed the greatest concern imagin-
able at parting with me, and to encourage me to continue with
them, offered me the sole privilege of reading lectures on
medecine to all the students. But I refused it, being resolved
to come and live here upon my estate, which is very consid-
erable." " Well," said Bruno to his friend, " what think you
now ? You would not believe me when I told you that
there was not a physician in all this country could cast an
ass's water better than himself; nor is there his fellow, 1
will maintain it, from this place to Paris. Go, then, and use
all your endeavours to gratify him in his request." " Bruno is
in the right," quoth the doctor; but here is nobody knows me
they are all a parcel of stupid ignorant people; but I wish
you had seen, how I appeared among the doctors." "Indeed,
Master Doctor," quoth Buffaimacco, " you know a great deal
more than I could have thought ; in which respect, speaking
unto you as becomes me to a person of your understanding and
parts, I dare assure you that you shall be one of our society."
This promise made him increase his favours towards them,
and they were extremely diverted with his great simplicity,
promising that he should have the Countess di Civilian for
his mistress, who was the goodliest and sweetest creature in
the whole world. The doctor asked what countess she was ?
" Oh," quoth Buffaimacco, "she is a very great lady, and
there are few houses but where she has some jurisdiction.

NOVEL IX. 417

Her officers are all about, and store of her great barons are
to be seen every where, namely, Tamagnin della Porta, Don
Meta, Manico di Scopa, and the rest, whose names have es-
caped me. You shall leave your old mistress then for this
lady, of whom we will give you the full possession."

Now the doctor, who had been brought up at Bologna,
understood not the meaning of these Florentine terms, and so
was pleased with the hopes of enjoying what they had pro-
mised him. In a little time they brought him the news of his
being admitted. The day, therefore, that they were to have
their meeting, he had them both to dine with him, and af-
ter dinner he asked them in what manner he had best go to
this assembly. When Buffalmacco replied, " It behoves you,
master, to proceed resolutely, otherwise you may receive an
impediment, and do us great injury. Now you shall hear
in what manner 1 would have you do so. You must contrive
to be upon one of those raised tombs in New St. Maria's
church-yard, at the time of the people's going to sleep, with
your best gown on, in order to make a figure amongst us at
your first appearance, and to verify our character of you to
the countess, who intends to make you a knight of the bath,
at her own expense. There you must wait till we send for
you. And, that you may be apprised of every thing, I must
acquaint you that there will be a black horned beast, of no
great stature, come for you, capering and dancing about to
terrify you ; but, after he finds you are not to be daunted,
he will gently come near you, when you may descend from
the tomb : and, without thinking of heaven, or any of the
saints, mount boldly upon his back; and, as soon as you shall
be seated, lay your hands upon your breast, without touching
him : he will then move easily along, and bring you to us : but if
you mention any thing of a prayer, or express the least fear, he
will throw you down into some noisome place or other; so
that you had better not attempt it, unless you can depend
upon your own courage ; for you may do us a great deal of
mischief, and yourself no good." Said the doctor, " You do
not know me yet; because < wear a gown, you think me faint-
hearted. If you did but know what I have done some nights
at Bologna, when I went with some of my companions to
visit the girls there, you would be surprised. One night, I
assure you, I met with a little, young baggage, who refused to
go along with us, when I dragged her by force a considerable
way, and afterwards she went willingly enough. Another
time, I remember, having nobody with me but my boy, that I
went through the friar's church-yard, after evening prayers,
when a woman had been buried there that night, and I was
not at all afraid. Never fear, therefore, but I will be cour-
ages and resolute as you can desire. To do you the greater
honor, too, I intend to go in the scarlet robes in which I com-
menced doctor, and you wili see what joy there will be in your

418 EIGHTH DAY.

assembly at my coming, and if I shall not go near to be im-
mediately declared your captain. You shall see also how the
case will go after J have made my appearance, in regard that
the countess, having as yet never seen me, is so enamoured
with me, that she will make me a knight of the bath ; and as
to supporting the honor, tbat you may leave to me."

"Very well spoken," said Buffalmacco ; but lake care you
do not impose upon us, and so not come at all, or be not found
there when we send for you : and I give you this caution be-
cause the weather is cold, and you doctors love to take care
of yourselves." " No," quoth the doctor, " I am one of those
hardy ones that have no regard for the weather, and if J have
occasion to rise in the night, I only put a fur gown over my
doublet; so you need make no doubt about it." As soon as
they were departed, and it was night, he made some excuse or
other to his wife, and got away his best gown, which he put
on when he thought it was the time, and went and stood upon
one of the grave-stones, it being a very cold night, expecting
the beast. Whilst Buffalmacco, who was pretty lusty, had
procured a vizard mask, such as they used formerly in farces,
and he covered himself with a black fur gown, which was
turned inside out, that he seemed like a bear, only that his
mask had two horns, and so he had more the appearance of
the devil. Being thus equipped, he went to the square by
New St. Martin's, Bruno following at a distance, to see how
they went on. And as soon as he found that his doctor was
there, he fell a skipping and roaring about as if he were mad,
which put our physician into a most terrible fright, and he be-
gan to wish heartily that he was at home again. But as he
was come out upon this affair, he resolved to accomplished it,
so urgent was his desire to behold the wonders which they had
been relating. At last, after Buffalmacco had played his
tricks for some time, he grew a little more quiet, and drew
near to the stone where the doctor was, and where he stood
out of harm's way; whilst he, who shook all over for fear, was
in doubt whether he should mount or not. Till apprehend-
ing that some mischief might befal him if he did not, this
latter fear expelled the former, and coming down from the
tomb, he mounted upon the beast, praying God to help him,
and laid his hands upon his breast, as he had been directed.
Buffalmacco then began to shape his course towards St. Maria
della Scalla, and from thence conducted him, groping all the
way in the dark, as far as the ladies of Ripole. Hereabouts
were divers ditches, made by the husbandmen to empty the
Countess di Civilian into, for the sake of manuring their lands
afterwards. Buffalmacco then being come to the brink of one
of them, and putting his hand under one of the doctor's feet,
pitched him headlong in, when he began to make a terrible
noise, stamping and roaring about, and so went back by St.

NOVEL IX. 419

Maria della Scalla, towards Prato d'Ogni Santi, where he met
with Bruno, who had been forced to leave him, because he
could not hold from laughing : and both turned back once
more, to see how the poor doctor would behave in that condi-
tion : who, finding himself in such a place, laboured with all
his might to get released ; but falling sometimes on one side,
and sometimes on the other, he was all over imbrued ; till at
length, with the utmost difficulty, he made shift to scramble
out with the loss of his hood. When he cleaned himself as
well as he could, and not knowing what other course to take,
he went home, and knocked at the door till they let him in.
The door was no sooner shut again, but Bruno and Buffal-
macco were there listening to hear what a reception the doctor
would meet with from his wife, who met him with all the bad
language she could devise, saying, " You are in a fine condi-
tion, truly — What, you have been with some other woman,
and so had a mind to make a figure in your scarlet robes ! —
Am not I enough for you ? I wish you had been choked
when you fell into all that nastiness. Here is a fine phy-
sician indeed ! who is not content with his own wife, but
must be running out at night after other women." With
tnese and such like words she rallied him till midnight, when
she had him washed and made clean. The next morning
Bruno and Buffalmacco came with their bodies all painted
over with blue spots, as if they had been beaten, to his house,
when they found him just risen out of bed, and everything
in a sad condition. He seeing them coming, went and wished
them a good morning ; but they seeming much out of temper,
replied, " We wished you had been hanged for a sorry man as
you are ; we have been near losing our lives, meaning to do
you honor, being beating like two asses, and in danger of be-
ing excluded our assembly, where we would have had you in-
troduced. If you will not believe us, pray behold our bodies:"
so taking him into a corner, where there was not much light,
they just opened their bosoms for him to see, and immediately
buttoned them up again. The doctor endeavoured to have
excused himself, and was telling them of his misfortunes, and
where he had been thrown. When Buffalmacco said, "I wish
you had been thrown from the bridge into the river ; what
had you to do with prayers ? Were not you told of that be-
forehand?" " Indeed," quoth he, " I used no prayers." "How
do you say! no prayers!" answered the others : " I am sure
our messenger told us, that you prayed and trembled like an
aspen leaf. We will never be served so again, either by you
or any one else ; nor must you expect ever any more to have
such favor shewed you." The doctor here began to ask par-
don, entreating them not to resent it: and, lest they should
expose him, by making it public, he entertained them at his
house more than ever. And thus our doctor was taught
something more than he had learned at Bologna.

420

THE EIGHTH DAY.

NOVEL X.

A certain Sicilian damsel cheats a merchant of all the money he
had taken for his goods at Palermo. Afterwards he pretends
to return with a greater stock of goods than before ; when he
contrives to borroiv a large sum of money of her, leaving sham
pledges for her security.

How much they were all diverted with the queen's novel,
it is needless to say ; and it being now ended, Dioneus be-
gan in this manner; — It is certain that those stratagems are
the more entertaining, the more cunning and artful the per-
son is who is imposed upon by them. Therefore, though the
other novels have been agreeable enough, yet I think to re-
late one that will please you better ; inasmuch as the lady
outwitted was a greater mistress of those devices, than any
of the persons before-mentioned.

It was formerly a custom, and may be still, in seaport towns, for
all the merchants that come thither, to bring their goods into
a common warehouse, under the keeping of the community, or
else the lord of the town ; when they give a particular account
in writing, of the nature and value of them : the goods are
kept under lock and key, and the account entered in a reg-
ister, for the merchants to pay the accustomed dues, as all or
part are sold, and delivered out of the warehouse. From this
register, the brokers are informed both of the quantity and
quality of the goods, and also who are the owners, to treat
with for them, either by exchange, truck, or sale. This was the
way at Palermo, as well as in many other places, where was
likewise great plenty of handsome women, not overstored with
modesty. And yet, to all appearance, many of them were
grand ladies, and pretended to a character : who, making
it their whole employ to shave, and even skin, such men as fell
into their clutches, no sooner did they see a strange merchant,
but they would inform themselves from that register, both of
the nature and value of his goods ; when, by their amorous
wiles, they would endeavour to bring him to their lure, which
they often did ; and some have been choused out of part of their
goods; others have lost ship, goods, and body, to boot ; so

NOVEL X. 421

finely have they been touched over by these cunning shavers.
Now it happened, net long since, that a certain young Floren-
tine, called Niccolo da Cigniano, though more usually Sala-
baetto, arrived there by way of factor, with as much woollen
cloth, which had been left unsold at the fair of Salerno, as
might be worth five hundred florins ; and having given in his
account to the officers, and laid his goods safely up in the
•warehouse, he was in no great haste to dispatch his business,
but took a turn up and down the town to amuse himself. Being
a personable young man, one of these female barterers, that we
have been speaking of, called Madam Jiancofiore, having
heard something of his affairs, soon took notice of him, which
he perceiving, and supposing she was some great lady who had
taken a fancy to him, resolved to conduct the affair with the ut-
most caution ; so without saying a word to any one, he used
to take his walks frequently by her house. She was soon
sensible of this, and when she thought his affection towards
her fully secured, under pretence of languishing for him, she
sent one of her women to him, an adept in that sort of busi-
ness, who told him, with tears in her eyes, that her lady was so
in love with him, that she could get no rest night or day ;
therefore she desired very much, whenever he would do her
that favour, to meet her at a bagnio ; and with these words
she took a ring out of her purse, and gave it him as a token.
Salabaetto was overjoyed at the message ; so taking the ring,
and looking carefully "at it, and kissing it, he put it upon his
ringer, and said, " If your lady loves me as you say, be assured
she has not misplaced her affections, for I love her more than
I do my own life, and shall be ready to meet her at any time
and place she shall appoint." She had no sooner reported this
answer, but she was posted back to tell him, that her mistress
would meet him at such a bagnio that evening. Accordingly,
he went thither at the time fixed, and found it engaged for
that lady's use. He had not waited long, before two women
slaves came, the one loaded with a fine cotton mattress, and the
other a hamper full of things. This mattress they laid upon a
bed in one of the chambers, covering it with a pair of sheets,
curiously edged with silk, and over the whole was spread a
rich Grecian counterpane, with two pillows, worked in a most
delicate manner , after which they went into the bath, and
cleaned it very carefully. The lady now came attended by two
slaves, and after some sighs and embraces, she said, ;' My dear
Tuscan, there is nobody could have obtained this favour from
me but yourself ;" so they went into the bath together, and with
them two of their slaves, who washed them with soap, scent-
ed with musk and gilliflowers. The other slaves then brought
two fine sheets, smelling of Nothing but roses, in one of which
they wrapped Salabaetto, and in the other the lady, and car-
ried them to bed, where, alter they had lain some time to
2 o

422 EIGHTH DAY

perspire, those sheets were taken away, and they were left be-
tween the others. After this, they took out of the hamper sil-
ver canisters of rose, orange, and jessamine water, which they
sprinkled upon the bed, and presented them with sweet-meats
and rich wines, by way of collation: he all the time thought
himself in paradise, wishing heartily that they would go away,
and leave him in possession of his mistress. At length, they
left a taper light in his chamber, and departed. After they had
lain a convenient time, the servants returned, and put on their
clothes ; and when they had taken some more refreshment of
wine and sweet-meats, and washed their hands and faces with
orange-water, as they were going to depart, she said, " If it be
agreeable to you, I should be vastly -pi eased if you would come
and sup with me, and stay all night. When he, supposing him-
self as dear to her as her own heart, replied, " Madam, what-
ever is pleasing to you, is entirely so to me ; now, therefore,
and at all times, I shall be ready to obey your commands."
So she went home, and had her apartment richly set out, and
provided a costly supper for him ; who accordingly went thither
as soon as it was dark, and was very elegantly received ; and
after supper they went into a chamber, scented with costly
odours, where was a most noble bed, and every thing besides
that was grand and sumptuous. All which made him conclude,
that she was some very great and rich lady. And though he
had heard various reports about her, yet he would not believe
them for the world ; nay, had he been convinced of her tricking
other people, he could never have been made to believe that
she would serve him so. He stayed with her then all that
night, and the next morning she made him a present of a fine
wrought belt and purse, saying to him, " My dear Salabaetto
fare you well; and from henceforth be persuaded, as you are
entirely to my good liking, that my person and all I possess
are at your service." He then took his leave with great
satisfaction, and went to the place where the merchants usual-
ly resort. And continuing his visits to her without any ex-
pense, and becoming every day more enamoured, it happen-
ed, that he sold his cloth, and gained considerable profit ; which
she being immediately apprised of, not from himself, but other
hands, as he was with her one night, she seemed to express
a more than ordinary fondness for him, and would needs make
hiin a present of two beautiful silver cups, worth about thirty
florins, which he refused to accept ; having had divers things
of her before, to the value of thirty more, without giving her
the worth of a single farthing. At last, after she had set
him all on fire, as it were, with this extraordinary love and li-
berality, she was called out by one of her slaves, as she had
contrived beforehand, when she returned in a little time full
of tears, and throwing herself down upon the bed, she seemed
to grieve most immoderately. Salabaetto was under the great

\TOVEL X. 423

est astonishment, and taking her in his arms, he began to
say, "Alas! my dear heart, what is it that has happened to you
thus suddenly? Tell me, my life, I entreat you, do."
She at last replied, " My dear lord, I know neither what to
do, nor what to say. I have just received letters from Mes-
sina, wherein my brother informs me, that, though I pawn all
I have, I must, without fail, remit a thousand florins of gold
in eight days ; otherwise, he must inevitably lose his head.
Now I find it impossible, to raise the money upon so short
a notice : had I but fifteen days, I could procure it from a
place, whence I could command even a greater sum ; or 1
could sell some of my lands : but as it cannot now be done,
I wish 1 had been in my grave rather than live to know this
trouble ;" and she continued weeping; whilst Salabaetto,
whose love had taken away his understanding, thinking
that her tears were real, and what she said was true, made
answer ; " Madam, I am unable to furnish you with a thou-
sand : but with five hundred I can, as you think you will be
aide to pay me in fifteen days: and it is your good fortune
that I happened to sell my cloth yesterday, otherwise I
could not have spared you one farthing." "Alas," quoth
the lady, " then have you been in want of money? Why did
not you speak to me ? For though I have not a thousand, I
have always a hundred or two to spare for you. You de-
prive me of the assurance to accept your proffered favour."
He, quite captivated with these fine speeches, made answer,
" Madam, you shall have it nevertheless ; had I been in
the like circumstance I should have applied to you."

"Dear me!" she replied, "I am convinced of your most
constant and entire love towards me, to supply me with such
a sum of your own accord: I was yours before, and now am
much more so ; nor shall I ever forget that it is to you I am
indebted for my brother's life. But Heaven knows I accept
it very unwillingly, considering that you are a merchant, and
must have occasion for a great deal of ready money ; but
being constrained by necessity, and assured also that I shall be
able to return it at your time, I will make use of it ; and I will
pawn all my houses rather than fail in my engagement to
you." With these words she fell down, weeping, in his arms.
He did all he could to comfort her, and stayed with her all
that night ; and the next morning, to show what a liberal
lover he was, and without waiting for any farther request,
brought her the five hundred florins, which she received
with laughter at her heart, though with tears in her eyes, he
looking only to her simple promise. But after she had got
the money, the times were soon changed ; and whereas be-
fore he had free admittance to her as often as he pleased, now
reasons were given that he could not get a sight of her once
in seven times that he went : nor did he meet with those

424 EIGHTH DAY.

smiles and caresses, nor with the same generous reception, as
before. Moreover, the time limited was past, and one or
two months over, and when he demanded his money, he
could get nothing but words by way of payment. Whilst
he, now sensible of the arts of this wicked woman, as well as
of his own want of sense, and knowing that he had no proof
against her, but what she herself would please to acknowledge,
there being nothing of any writing between them, was asham-
ed to make his complant to any one, both because he had
notice of it before, and also on account of the disgrace he
must undergo for his monstrous credulity ; so he continued
uneasy and disconsolate to the last degree. And receiving
frequent letters from his masters, in which he was required
to get bills of exchange for the money, and remit to them, he
resolved to prevent a discovery, to leave the place ; and he
embarked on board a little vessel, not for Pisa, as he should
have done, but for Naples. At that time lived there Sig-
nor Pietro dello Cangigiano, treasurer to the Empress of
Constantinople, a very subtle, sensible man, and a great friend
to Salabaetto and his masters ; to whom he made his case
known, requesting his assistance in getting himself a liveli-
hood, and declaring that he would never more return to
Florence. Canigiano, who was much concerned for him, re-
plied, "You have done very ill ; very ill indeed have you be-
haved yourself; small is the regard which you have shewed
to your principles ; too much have you expended upon your
pleasures. It is done, however, and we must remedy it as
well as we can." Then, like a prudent man, he considered
what course it was best to take, and acquainted him with it.
Salabaetto was pleased .with the scheme, and resolved to fol-
low it ; and having some money of his own, and Canigiano lend-
ing him some, he made divers bales of goods well' packed
together, and procured about twenty casks for oil, which he
filled, and returned with them to Palermo, where he entered
them as on his account in the register, with what value he plea-
sed to put upon them ; and he laid them up in the ware-
house, declaring, that they were not to be meddled with till
more goods of his should arrive, which he was daily expect-
ing. The lady hearing of this, and understanding that he
goods he had already there were worth two thousand florins, and
that what remained to come were rated at three thousand
more, began to think that she had as yet got too little from him ;
therefore she thought of returning the five hundred, to come in
for a better part of the five thousand, and accordingly, she
sent for him. He went with malice in his heart, whilst she
seeming to know nothing of what he had brought, appeared
wonderfully pleased at seeing him, and said, " Now, were
you really vexed because I failed giving you your money at
your time?" He smiled, and replied, " In truth, Madam,

NOVEL X. 425

I was a little uneasy, since I would pluck my very heart out if
I thought it would please you ; but you shall see how much
I was offended. Such is my regard for you, that I have sold
the greatest part of my estate, and have brought as much
merchandize as is worth two thousand florins, and I expect
from the Levant what will amount to three thousand more ;
resolving to have a warehouse, and to abide here, for the sake
of being near you, as I think nobody can be happier in their
love than I am in yours." She then replied, "Now trust
me, Salabaetto, whatever redounds to your benefit is extreme-
ly pleasing to me, as I hold you dearer than my own life ;
and I am glad you are returned with an intention of staying,
because I hope to have a great deal of your company ;
but it is fit that I excuse myself to you, in that some-
times you came to see me, and were not admitted, and at
other times not so cheerfully received as before ; and besides
this, for my not paying you the money according to promise.
Now you must know that I was then in very great trouble,
and upon such occasions, be one's love what it will, one can-
not look so pleasantly as at another time : I must tell you
likewise that it is a very difficult thing for a lady to raise a
thousand florins, people impose upon us in that manner,
without ever minding what they promise ; so that we are forced
to deceive others. Hence it is, therefore, and for ho other
reason, that I did not return you vour money; but I had got it
ready, just as you went away; and would have sent it after
you, had I known where to have found you ; but as I did not,
I kept it carefully for you." So sending for a purse, which
had the very same florins in it, that he had delivered to her,
she put it into his hand, saying, "See, and count if there are
five hundred." Never was Salabaetto so over-joyed as
at that present time ; so telling them over, and finding there
were just five hundred, he replied, " Madam, I am convinced
that what you say is true ; but let us talk no more about it, you
have done your part, and I assure you, upon that account, as
well as the love I have for you, that whatever sum of money
you shall want at any time, if it be in my power to supply you,
you may command it; as you may soon see upon trial." Thus
their love being renewed, in word at least, he artfully con-
tinued his visits as before ; whilst she shewed him all the respect
and honor that could be, expressing the same fondness as ever.
But he, willing to return measure for measure, being invited
one night to sup with her, went thither, all sad and melan-
choly, like a person in despair. When she, kissing and em-
bracing him, would needs know the cause of all that sorrow.
He, having suffered her to entreat him for some time, at
last said, " I am undone ; for the ship which had the goods on
board, that I have been expecting, is taken by the corsairs of
Monaco, and put up at the ransom of ten thousand florins,
2 o 2

426 EIGHTH DAY.

one thousand of which fails to my share, and I have not one
farthing to pay it with ; for the five hundred which you paid
me, I sent instantly to Naples, to lay out in cloth to be sent
hither ; and were I to offer to sell the goods I have here, as it
is an improper time, I must do it to very great loss, and, being
a stranger, I have nobody to apply to ; so that I know
neither what to say nor what to do ; and if the money be not
sent immediately, they will be carried into Monaco, and
then they will be past redemption."

She was under great concern at hearing this, reckoning a
good part of it as lost to herself ; and considering how to pre-
vent the goods being sent to Monaco at last she said, "Heaven
knows how much my love for you makes me grieve for youi
misfortune. But to what purpose is that ? Had I the money
I would instantly give it you; but I have not. Indeed
there is a person that lent me five hundred florins the
other day, when I was in distress, but he expects an exorbitant
interest, namely, no less than thirty in the hundred. If you
will have the money of this man, you must give him good se-
curity. Now I am ready to pledge my goods here, and pass
my word as far as that will go to serve you ; but how will you
secure the remainder?" Salabaetto knew the reason of her pro-
posing this piece of service, and that she herself was to
lend the money; so, being well pleased, he returned her thanks,
and said, that, let the interest be what it would, his necessity
was such, that he must agree to it: then he added, that he
would make a security by his goods which he had in the ware-
house, and that they sliould be assigned over in the register to
the person who advanced the money, but that he would keep
the key, as well for the sake of shewing them, if any body
should want to see them, as to prevent their being exchanged
or meddled with. The lady replied, " You speak extremely
well, the security is sufficient ;" and at the time appointed
she sent for a broker, in whom she put great confidence, when
she told him what he was to do, and gave him the money,
which he carried to Salabaetto, who assigned over his goods
to him at the custom-house, and they were entered in his
name ; thus they parted, giving each other counter- security.
Salabaetto now immediately embarked with the fifteen hundred
florins, and went to Pietro dello Canigiano at Naples, from
whence he remitted to his masters at Florence the entire
account of what he had made of their cloth ; and having paid
Pietro and every one else what he owed them, they laughed
very heartily together at the trick put upon his Sicilian mis-
tress. From thence, resolving to trade no longer, he went
to Florence. In the mean time, the lady, finding Salabaetto
was not at Palermo, began to wonder, and grow half suspicious ;
ar.d, after waiting two months, and hearing nothing of his re-
turn, she made the broker force open the warehouse, when

NOVFL X. 427

first she tried the casks, which she supposed had been full of
oil, and found them full of salt water, with a small quantity
of oil at the top, just at the bung-hole. She then looked into
the bales of goods, only two of which had cloth in them ; and
the rest were stuffed with coarse hurds of hemp ; that, in short,
the wdiole was not worth two hundred florins. So she, finding
herself thus imposed upon, was under great affliction for a
long time, with regard to the five hundred florins that she
had restored, and much more for the thousand she had lent,
often, saying, that whoever had to do with a Tuscan, had
need have all their eyes about them. Thus she became a
common jest afterwards, having found to her cost that some
people have as much cunning as others.

After Dioneus had made an end, Lauretta, knowing that her
reign was concluded, ana having commended the good ad-
vice of Pietro Canigiano, as appeared by its effect, and the
sagacity of Salahaetto, no less to be admired, in putting it
in execution, took the crown from her own head, and placed
it upon Emilia, saying, "Madam, I do not know whether you
will make a pleasant queen or not, but a pretty one I am
sure you will. See then that your works correspond with
your beauty." Emilia, not so much for the honour conferred
upon her, as for hearing herself commended on account of
that which ladies most of all covet, blushed a little, seeming
like the opening of a rose in the morning ; but after she had
turned her eyes down to the ground, till the redness was
something gone off, and having given her orders to the mas-
ter of the household, concerning what she wTould have done,
she began in this manner: "We often see, ladies, that after
oxen have laboured at the yoke all the day, they are then
turned loose, and permitted to graze through the forests at
then pleasure. It is also certain, that gardens, which have
a variety of trees in them, are more delightful than groves
where nothing is seen but oaks ; for which reasons, consider-
ing how many days we have been confined to certain laws,
it may be convenient for us all to take a little liberty, to
refresh, and gain strength against our returning to the yoke.
I shall therefore, give you no particular subject for to-mor-
row, but leave you all to please yourselves, being of opinion,
that a variety of things will be no less entertaining than
keeping strictly to one. My successor, if he pleases, may
keep to the old laws." She then gave them leave to depart
till supper-time. The queen's order was generally approv-
ed, and they went to their different amusements. The
ladies made nosegays and chaplets of flowers, and the gen-
tlemen sat down to play, or else to sing; and thus they were
employed till supper, when they placed themselves by the
fountain -side, and supped very merrily together. After-
wards they began to dance and sing, when the queen, to

428 EIGHTH DAY.

pursue the method of her predecessors, besides what many
of them had voluntarily given, ordered Pamphilus to sing a
song, which he did as follows :

SONG.

Such the abundant am'rous joy

With which my heart elate hath been,

As no restraint, no bounds to know,
And flushing in my face is seen i

In vain my feeble song essays.

To paint what cannot be exprest ;
And which more fully to have known,
Would bring but jealousy at best.

Could I have form'd a wish like this,
My utmost hope have reach'd so far,

To clasp her yielding taper waist,
And press my eager lips to her ?

Every one joined in Pamphilus's song; nor was there any
among them but made more conjectures than were neces-
sary, to find out what he meant to conceal ; and though
they imagined different things, yet one of them was in the
right. But the queen, seeing the song was ended, and that
the company were disposed to rest, gave orders for them all
to retire to bed.

T THEE B"IT]E^"<&A]L E

429

THE DECAMEEON,

THE NINTH DAY.

Aurora had now changed the heavens from blue to pur-
ple, and the flowers along the meadows began to open to
he rising sun, when the queen arose with all her company ;
and they took a walk together to a grove, not far from the
palace, where they saw a variety of creatures, such as deer,
goats, &c, so secure from the hunter, by reason of the then
raging pestilence, that they stood gazing upon them as if they
had been tame. Upon a nearer approach, first to one, and
then to another, as if they meant to play with them, they
were greatly delighted to see them run and skip about them.
But the sun being now risen to a good height, it was thought
convenient to return. They had all oak garlands on, with
their hands full of flowers, and sweet-smelling herbs ; so that
whoever had seen them must needs have concluded, either
that death would not be able to vanquish them, or at least
that he would find them no otherwise than merry. In this
manner they came step by step to the palace, laughing, jo-
king, and singing, all the way, where they found every thing
in order ; and, after reposing themselves awhile, they sung
half a dozen songs before they would sit down to table. They
then washed their hands, and dinner was served up when be-
ing sufficiently regaled, and after indulging in a dance or two,
the queen gave leave for such as were so disposed to go to
rest. At the usual hour they met at the usual place, when
the queen looking on Philomena, desired her to begin for that
day , which she did in this manner.

430

THE NINTH MY

NOVEL I.

Maaam Francesco, having two lovers, and liking neither of them,
rids herself of both by waking one go and lie down in a per-
son's grave, and sending the other to fetch him out.

J am well pleased, Madam, as it is your will, to run the
first ring, in this free and open field, of relating novels, in
which your courtesy has placed us, not doubting, if I per-
form well, hut that they who come after will do as well or
better. It has often been made appear in our discourses, how
great the force of love is ; nor do I think the subject would
be exhausted, were we to talk of nothing else from year's
end to year's end : because it hath led its votaries not only
into various dangers of death, but even into the very man-
sions of the dead, I purpose to add a story to what has been
already given, wherein, besides the power of love, will be
shewed the contrivance of a certain lady to rid herself of two
lovers, who were neither of them to her liking.

In the city of Pistoia there was a handsome widow lady,
whom two of our townsmen, who were banished thither from
hence, were desperately in love with, and who used their ut-
most endeavours to gain her atFection ; the one named Rin-
uccio Palermino, and the other AlessandroChiarmontesi.
Now this lady, who was called Franscesca de Lazari, had
been often solicited by them, when she listened too hastily to
their importunities ; and being afterwards desirous to quit
herself of those engagements, without being able to do it, it
came into her head at last to ask a piece of service of
them, which, though possible to be done, she supposed neither
would undertake, and that, from their not complying, she might
havea just pretence for turning them adrift. The thing was this:

The very day that she first thought of it, a man was buried
at Pistoia, who, though of a good family, was reputed to have
been one of the vilest wretches that ever was born ; more-
over, he was so deformed, that they who did not know him,
would have been frightened at the first sight of him. This

NOVEL I. 431

circumstance, she thought, fell in very aptly with her design ;
therefore she said to her maid :

" Thou knowest what plague and trouble I have had with
these two Florentines; now I have a mind to have neither the
one or the other. In order, then, to shake them off, I intend
to make a trial of them in a certain affair which I am confi-
dent they will refuse to do, and thou shalt hear what it is.
Last night, thou knowest, was interred, in the churchyard be-
longing to the lesser friars, Scannadio, (for so was the man
called whom we have been speaking of) who, even when alive,
was frightful to most people. Do ihou go, then, privately to
Allessandro, and say that thy mistress orders thee to acquaint
him, that the time is now come when he may be secure of her
love, in the following manner: — That one of her relations, for
a reason which he will know afterwards, is^to bring that man's
corpse to her house, which she is mucn averse to ; therefore
she begs it as a favour of him, that he would go, about the
beginning of the night, into the grave, and put the man's
shroud on, waiting there till the person comes to take him
away, which he is to suffer him to do, without speaking a
word, and to let him carry him to her house, where she will
be ready to receive him ; and the rest he nray leave to her. If
he agrees to it, it is well ; but if he refuse, charge him at his
peril not to come any more in her sight, or to trouble her with
his messages. After this, thou must go to Rinuccio, and tell
him, that thy mistress is ready to gratify him upon condition
that he will do her one piece of service, which is to fetch
Scannadio out of his grave about midnight, and bring him to
her house, the meaning of which he will see at that time ;
and if he should refuse, that he offer to come no more near
her." The maid obeyed, and going to both, delivered her
messages. They replied, that they would not only go into a
grave, but even to hell, if it was her desire. She accordingly
reported their answers to the lady, who was waiting to see if
they would be such fools as to do so. At night, therefore,
Allessandro stripped into his waiscoat, and went to supply
Scannadio's place in the vault, when he was seized with sud-
den terror by the way, and began to say to himself, " What
a fool am I ! Whither am I going ? How do I know but
this is a trap laid by some of her relations, who have
made a discovery of my love, to murder me in the vault,
which may be effected, and nobody know any thing of the mat-
ter; or how can I be assured but it is a stratagem of some rival,
whom she may love better than me ? But suppose again on
the other hand, that none of these things are intended, and
that her relations carry me to her house, I must conclude that
they cannot want Scannadio's body, either to keep themselves,
or to present to her, but rather that they mean to mangle it, it
having deserved such treatment from them. She also enjoins

432 NINTH DAY.

me not to speak a word, whatever shall be done to me. But
suppose they pluck out my eyes, or lop off my hands, how can
I bear that ? and should 1 cry out, and they know me they
might then use me ill ; or, otherwise, they may not leave me
with the lady, and so she may pretend that I have disobeyed
her orders, and my labour will be all lost." Full of these re-
flections, he was on the point of returning home, till his love
spurred him on with more prevailing arguments to the con-
trary, and hurried along to the vault, which he opened, and
having entered, he stripped the dead body, and put on the
shroud; and, after he had closed the grave again, he laid
himself down in Scannadio's place, when, calling to mind the
man's character, and the reports which he had heard of his
ransacking people's graves, and committing all kinds of vil-
lany, he was so terrified, that his hair stood on end, and he
was expecting every moment that the man should rise up, and
strangle him there. Yet still his love got the better of his fear,
and he lay as if he were dead, waiting for the event. As soon
as it was midnitght, Rinuccio went out also to obey his mis-
tress's commands ; and as he passed along, he began to think
of many things which might happen to him; particularly
his being met by the sheriff's officers with Scannadio's body
on his back, and so punished for sacrilege, or else his falling
under the resentment of the man's relations, if they should
chance to know it ; with more such apprehensions, enough to
have deterred him from the enterprise. Till considering with
himself, he said, " What, and shall I say no to the lady's
first request, whom I have loved, and do still love so much ;
especially as it is to gain her favour ? Undoubtedly, were I
sure to die in the attempt, I would fulfil my promise," Full
of that resolution, he went to the grave, and opened it. Ales-
sandro, though he was very much frightened, lay still never-
theless. Whilst Rinuccio, thinking that it was Scannadio's
body, took Alessandro by the feet, and drew him out, and
hoisting him upon his shoulders, he went on towards Fran-
cesco's house. But carrying him along without any great
care, he would frequently hit him a great thump against the
wall, first on one side, and then on the other : the night also
was so dark, that he scarcely knew where he went; and being
now got to the door, and she sitting with her maid at the win-
dow, expecting their coming, and prepared to send them
about their business, it happened that the officers were wait-
ing there, to take a certain outlaw, when, hearing the noise, of
Rmuceie's steps, they drew out their lanterns to see who it
was, whilst they raised up their halberds, and cried out,"Who
is there :" Rinuccio, upon this, without any great delibera-
tion, threw his burden down, and ran away as fast as his legs
couid carry him. Alessandro too got up as speedliy as the
could, though the dead man's clothes were a good deal too long

NOVEL I. 433

for him, and made off as well as the other. — Now the lady saw
plainly, by the officers' light, how Rinnccio had the other
upon his back, with the dead man's shroud on, and was asto-
nished at the resolution of both, laughing heartily, however,
as soon as she saw Alessandro thrown down, and that each of
them took to his heels. And being thankful for her deliver-
ance, she returned into her chamber, declaring to her maid,
that surely their love must be very great, to fulfil such con-
ditions. Rinuceio stayed at a distance, cursing his hard for-
tune, till the officers were gone, when he came groping about
to find where he had thrown Alessandro down, desiring to
complete his commands ; but not meeting with him, and sup-
posing that the officers had taken him away, he departed,
vexed at his disappointment. Alessandro, also, not knowing
what to do, and being ignorant who the person was that had
carried him thither, went home with the like concern. And
in the morning, Scannadio's vault being found open, and the
body not seen therein, because Alessandro had rolled it to the
bottom, the town was all in an uproar about it, many people
believing that the devil had certainly carried him off. Never-
theless, both the lovers signified to the lady what they had
done, and how they had been disappointed, excusing them-
selves thereby, for not having fully executed her commands,
and still entreating her favor and love : whilst she, seeming to
credit neither, cut them both short with an absolute denial,
inasmuch as both had failed in the performance of the con-
ditions required.

2p

434

THE NINTH DAY.

NOVEL II.

An abbess going in haste, and in the dark, to surprise one of her
nuns, instead of her veil, put on the pries fs breeches. The
lady accused makes a just remark upon this, and so escapes.

Philomena was now silent, and the lady's contrivance to
free herself from two troublesome people, whom she could not
love, generally approved; their daring presumption being
judged the effect not of love, but folly. When the queen
pleasantly said, "Eliza, do you follow:" who immediately
began : The lady you have just mentioned saved herself very
dexterously from trouble ; but a certain nun escaped the most
imminent danger, by a word or two aptly spoken, more
through her good fortune. There are many simple people,
who prove the rigid masters and correctors of others, whom
fortune takes occasion sometimes very justly to expose and
humble, as was the case of the abbess, under whose govern-
ment the nun was, of whom I am going to speak.

In Lombardy was a monastery, famous for its sanctity ; and
amongst the other nuns belonging to it, was a lady, named
Isabella, of exquisite beauty, as well as of a noble family, who
had fallen in love with a young gentlemen, that came with a
relation of hers to see her at the grate. He also bad con-
ceived the same affection for her, and this love continued
some time without effect, to the great concern of both. At
last he thought of a way to get to her, and continued visiting
her in that manner, till he was discovered by one of the ladies.
She communicated the affair to some others ; and first, they
were resolved to accuse her to the abbess, a worthy good lady
in the opinion of the nuns and other people that knew her;
but afterwards, for fear slie should deny it, it was agreed, that
the abbess should surprise them together ; and so they kept
watch by turns, in order to find them out. One right, therefore,
Isabella having her lover in her chamber, without the least sus-
picion of their designs, the scouts immediately perceived it, and
dividing themselves into parties, one guarded the entrance into

NOVEL VI. 435

her room, whilst the other ran to the lady abbess's chamber,
when, knocking at the door, they cried, " Pray, Madam, get
up as quick as you can, for our sister Isabella has a man in
her apartments-" Now that night it happened, that the ab-
bess had a priest with her, who had been frequently brought
to her in a chest; and fearing lest, out of their great hurry and
eagerness, they might force the door open, she immediately
arose, and dressed herself as well as she could in the dark ;
and thinking that she had-taken a certain plaited veil, which
she usually wore, she chanced to lay hold of the priest's
breeches, and threw them over her head in its stead. She
now went forth, and locking the door after her, she said,
"Where is this wicked woman?" Away then she posted
along with the nuns, who were so zealous and intent upon
finding out poor Isabella, that they never took notice of what
she had upon her head : and coming to her chamber, they
found her and her lover together, who were so confounded,
that; they could not speak a word. She was then taken and
carried to the chapter-house, the young gentleman being left
in the chamber, waiting to see what the end would be, and
resolving to revenge himself, if any harm was offered to his
mistress, and afterwards to take her away.

The abbess having taken her place in the chapter, with her
nuns about her, who had all their eyes only on the guilty per-
son, she began to give her a most severe reprimand, for hav-
ing defiled, as she told her, by her most disorderly and wicked
actions, the scantity, honesty, and good name, of the monas-
tery, adding thereto most bitter threats. The lady, quite con-
founded between fear and shame, was able to make no defence,
moving many of them to compassion with her silence, but the
abbess still continuing her abuses, she happened to raise up her
head, when she saw the breeches hanging on each side of the
abbess's neck, and being a little comforted with that, as she
conjectured the fact, she said, " Please, Madam, to button the
coif, and then tell me what you would have." "What coif
is that you mean ?" replied she, "you wicked woman, you!
Have you the assurance to laugh at me? Do you think jests
will serve your ttirn in such an affair as this?" The lady
said once more, " I beg, Madam, that you would first button
your coif, and then speak." Upon which they all perceived
Isabella's meaning. And the abbess, finding that she was de-
tected of the very same crime, soon changed her note, and be-
gan to excuse and palliate the matter. So she returned to
her priest, as Isabella did to her lover. And they continued
their interviews together, in spite of all such as envied their
happiness; whilst the rest procured themselves lovers as soon
as they could.

436

THE NINTH DAY.

NOVEL III.

Master Simon, the. doctor, with Bruno, and the rest, make Calan-
drino believe that he is with child ; who gives them fowls and
money, to compose a medicine for him ; and he recovers with-
out being delivered.

After Eliza had concluded her novel, and the company
all expressed their joy for the lady's happy escape from the
invidious censures of her sister-nuns, the queen ordered Phi-
lostratus to proceed, which he immediately did in this man-
ner : —

The odd figure of a judge, that was spoken of yesterday,
prevented my giving you a story of Calandrino, which I had
ready to tell you. Therefore, as whatever is related of him
must be entertaining, though we have had a great deal already
about him and his companions, I shall now say what I had
then in my mind.

You have heard who Calandrino was, as well as the rest
of the people concerned in this novel ; so I shall tell you,
without farther preface, that he had an aunt died who left
him about twenty pounds, on which he began to talk of
purchasing an estate, and was running to treat with every
broker in Florence, as if he had been worth the Indies, but
there was an end always when they came to talk of a price.
Now Bruno and Buffalmacco, who knew all this, had often
told him that he had better spend it with them, than lay
it out on a little paltry land ; but in vain ; he would never
part with a farthing. One day being in company with ano-
ther painter, whose name was Nello, and having agreed to
feast themselves well at his expense, and being resolved too
in what manner ; the next morning, as he was going out of
his house, he was met by Nello, who said, "Good morning
to you, and a good year also." After which the other began
to look wistfully in his face, when he said " What do you
look at V Quoth Nello, " Has any thing been the matter with
you last night? You are quite a different person." Calan-

NOVEL III. 437

rino orew thoughtful at this, and said, " Alas ! now, what do
you think I ail ?" Nello replied, "' Oh ! I do not speak it upon
that account, it may be something else ; " and away he went.
Caiandrino went on a little diffident, though feeling nothing
all the time, when Buffalmacco came up to him, seeing him
part from Nello, and asked him whether he was well. Cai-
andrino replied, "Indeed I do not know: is it possible to
be otherwise, and 1 not perceive it?" Said Buffalmacco, " It
may be so, or it may not ; but I assure you, you look as though
you were half dead." He now thought himself in a high fever,
when Bruno came up, and the first word he said was, " Mon-
strous ! how you look ! why you are dead. Have you any
sense of feeling?" He now concluded it was really so, and he
asked them, in a great fright, what he had best do. " I
advise," quoth Bruno, "that you go home and get to beu,
covering yourself up close, whilst you send your water to
Master°Simon, the doctor: he is our friend, you know, and
will put you into a method ; in the mean time we will go with
you, and" do what we can for you." So they took him to his
own house, and he went up stairs ready to die away every
moment, when he said to his wife, " Come and cover me up
welt in bed, for I find myself extremely ill." And being
laid down, he sent his water by a little girl to the doctor, whose
shop was in the old market, at the sign of the Melon. Bruno
now- said to his friends, li Do vou stay here, and I will go and
hear what the doctor says, and bring him with me if there be
occasion." Said Caiandrino, " Pray do, my good friend, and
let me know how it stands with me, for 1 feel myself strangely
within." Bruno getting to the doctor's before the girl, let
him into the secret. When the child came therefore, and
he had examined the water, he said to her, " Go and bid
him keep warm, and I will come instantly, and direct what
to do." She returned, and told Caiandrino, and in a little
time the doctor and Bruno came together, when the doctor sat
down by him, and began to feel his pulse ; at last he said,
the wife being present, " I must tell you, as a friend, that
your illness is nothing else but your being with child." As
soon as he heard this, he began to roar out, and say to his wife,
" Alas, this is all your doing !" Whilst the poor woman was
so surprised, and out of countenance, that she left the room.
He then continued his complaints, saying, "What must
1 do? Or how shall I be delivered?" His companions had
much ado to keep from laughing, seeing him in all this
fright; and as for the doctor, he shewed all his teeth in such
a manner, that you might have drawn every one out; till,
at length, Caiandrino requesting the doctor's best advice and
assistance, the doctor replied, " Caiandrino, I would not
have you make yourself too uneasy ; for since I know your
aliment, I doubt not but I shall soon give you relief, and with

438 NINTH DAY.

a very little trouble ; but it will be some expense." " O
doctor," quoth he, " 1 have twenty pounds, which should have
bought me an estate ; take it all, rather than let it come
to a labour; for I hear the women make such a noise at those
times, that I shall never get through it." " Never fear," said
the doctor, " I shall prepare you a distilled liquor, very plea-
sant to the taste, which will resolve and bring it away; so,
that in three days you shall be as well as ever, nor subject any
more to the like mishap. Now I must have six fat fowls,
and for the other things, which will cost about ten shil-
lings, you must give one of your friends here the money
to buy, and bring them to my shop ; and to-morrow morning
1 will send you the distilled water, which you must drink
by a large glass-full at a time. He replied, " Doctor, I rely
upon you." So he gave Bruno ten shillings, and money
also for the fowls, and desired he would take that trouble
upon him. The doctor then made a little hippocrass, and
sent it to him. Whilst Bruno, with his companions and
the doctor, were very merry over the fowls, and other
good cheer purchased with the rest of the money. After
Calandrino had drunk the hippocrass for the three morn-
ings, the doctor came with his companions to see him,
and on feeling his pulse, he said, " You are now quite well,
and need confine yourself within doors no linger."

He was overjoyed at this, and gave the doctor great thanks,
telling every body he met what a cure Doctor Simon had
wrought him in three days' time, and without the least pain.
Nor were his friends less pleased in over-reaching his extreme
avarice ; but as to the wife, she saw into the trick, and made
a great clamour about it.

439

THE NINTH DAY.

NOVEL IV.

Fortarrigo played away all that he had at Buonconvento, as also
the money of Angiolieri, who luas his master ; then running
away in his shirt, and pretending that the other had robbed
him, he caused him to be siezed by the country people, when
he put on his clothes, and rode away upon his horse, leaving
him there in his shirt.

Calandrixo's simplicity had occasioned a good deal of di-
version ; when Neiphile, as it was the queen's pleasure, be-
gan in this manner: — If it were not more difficult for people to
shew their worth and good sense, rather than their bad dispo-
sitions and folly, they would not need to lay their tongues un-
der the severe restraint, that many are forced to do ; now I
mean to tell a story quite contrary to the last ; namely, how
the vileness of one man came beyond the understanding of
another, to the great detriment and derision of the person so
outwitted.

There dwelt, not long since, at Siena, two young men of
equal years, the one named Angiolieri, and the Fortarrigo,
who, as they resembled each other in many things, so, more
particularly in their disobedience to their faihers, by which
means they became inseparable friends. But Angiolieri, who
was an accomplished gentleman, finding that he could not
subsist very well there upon his father's allowance, and hear-
ing that a certain cardinal was come to Ancona, as the pope's
legate, who had not shewed a particular regard for him, he
resolved to go thither, in hopes of bettering his condition.
So making his mind known to his father, he got half a year's
stipend beforehand, in order to furnish himself with clothes
and horses for his more creditable appearance. And being in
want of a servant, Fortarrigo, who had notice of it, came and
requested the favor that he would iake him along with him in
that capacity, offering to be his valet, footman, and every
thing else, without a farthing of wages more than his expenses

440 NINTH DAY.

which the other refused, not that he thought him unfit for his
service, but because he knew him to be a gamester, and one
that would frequently get drunk. Fortarrigo assured him that
he would be constantly on his guard with respect to both, con-
firming it with many protestations, and begging so hard be-
sides, that at last he gave his consent.

Accordingly they set out upon their journey, and rode as
far as Buonconvento, where they stopped to dine; and after
dinner, as it was very hot weather, Angiolieri ordered a bed
to be prepared, when he made his man undress him, and
went to sleep, ordering him to call him up exactly as the clock
struck nine. Whilst he was asleep, therefore, Fortarrigo
went to the tavern, anil, after drinking pretty heartily, be-
gan to play with some people there, who soon won what
little money he had, as also the clothes off his back. When
being desirous of retrieving what he had lost, he went strip-
ped as he was, to Angiolieri's bed-side, and finding him fast
asleep, he took all the money out of his pocket and returning
to play, lost it, as he had done the rest. As soon as Angio-
lieri awoke, he arose and dressed himself, inquiring for
Fortarrigo, who, not being to be found, he supposed he was
gone somewhere or other to sleep, as he was used to do ;
therefore he determined to leave him there, ordering the sad-
dle and portmanteau to be put upon his horse, with a design
of providing himself with another servant at Corsignano.
And putting his hand into his pocket to pay his landlord, he
found he had no money, upon which he made a great uproar,
declaring he had been robbed, and threatening to have them
all sent prisoners to Siena; when, behold, Fortarrigo came run-
ning in his shirt, with a design of stealing his clothes, as he
had before his money , and seeing him about to ride away, he
said, " What is the meaning of this, Sir ? Why should we
go so soon ? Do stay a little. A man has got my coat in
pawn for eight-arid-thirty shillings, and I dare say he will
let us have it for five-and-thirty to be paid clown." But as
he was saying this, a person came and told Angiolieri, that
Fortarrigo was a thief, as appeared from t'ae quantity of mo-
ney he had lost ; upon which Angiolieri was in a most violent
passion, threatening to have him hanged up and gibbeted ;
saying this, he mounted his horse. " But," said Fortarri-
go, as if he had been no way concerned, " pray, Sir, leave off
this idle talk, and let us have regard to the main point; we
may have this coat now for five-and-thirty shillings, which,
if we stay till to-morrow, the person who lent me the money
may expect eight-and-thirty for. Then why should we lose
these three shillings?" Angiolieri was out of all patience,
hearing this from him. and seeing the surprise of the people
all around him. who seemed to him to think not that Fortarrigo
had gamed away his money, but rather that he had so;;:e of

NOVEL IV. 441

Fortarrigo's money in keeping ; so he said, " Plague take
thee and thy coat I Is it not enough to have rohbed me, but
thou must insult me into the bargain, and stop my going
away?" Still Fortarrigo continued, as if he had not been the
person spoken to, adding, " Consider these three shillings.
Do you think I shall never pay you again ? If you have any
regard for me, pray do. Why need you be in such a hurry ?
We shall be time enough at Torrenieri. Then open your
purse. I may go to every shop in Siena, and not get such
another coat. And to tell me that I must leave it for eight-
and thirty shillings, when it is worth more than forty, is doing
me a double injury." Angiolieri, vexed to the las*- degree at
seeing himself robbed, and then kept in talk in that manner,
turned his horse, and rode towards Forrenieri. When Fortar-
rigo who had still a more knavish design, ran after him for two
miles together, begging for his coat ; and as the other was
going to put on, in order to get rid of his noise, it happened
that there were some labourers by the road where Angiolieri
was to pass, when he called out to them, "Stop thief!" so
they took their forks and spades, and seized him, imagining
that he had robbed the other, who was following after in that
manner. And it was in vain that he offered to tell them how
the case really was. — In the mean time, Fortarrigo came up,
and said, with an angry countenance, " 1 have a good mind
to knock your brains out, you rascal you ! to ride away with
what belongs tome;" and turning to the people, he added,
"You see, gentlemen, in what plight he left me yonder at the
inn, having first gamed away all that he had of his own. I my
well say that it is you I am obliged to for getting them back,
and I shall always acknowledge it." Angiolieri then told
them a different story, but they had no regard to what he said.
So Fortarrigo dismounted him, with their assistance, and
stripped him of his clothes, which he put on himself, and
got upon his horse, leaving him there in his shirt, and bare-
foot ; when he returned to Siena, giving it out every where
that he had wron Angiolieri's horse and clothes at play ;
whilst Angiolieri thinking to have visited the cardinal in a
sumptuous manner, returned poor and naked to Buonconvento,
and he was so ashamed of himself, that he would not go back
to Siena, but procuring some money upon the horse that For-
tarrigo had ridden on, he clothed himself, and went to his rela-
tions at Corsignano, where he stayed till he got a supply from
his father. Thus Angiolieri's good design was entirely frus-
trated by the other's subtle villany, which yet in due time
met with its deserved punishment.

142

THE NINTH DAY.

NOVEL V.

Calandrino is in love with a certain damsel, when Bruno prepares
a charm for her, by virtue of which she follows him, and they are
found together by his wife.

Neiphile'p short novel was concluded, without either too
much talk or laughter, when the queen ordered Flametta to
follow, which she did cheerfully in this manner : — There is
nothing can be so often repeated, but what will please the more
always, if mentioned in due time and place. When I con-
sider, therefore, the intent of our meeting, which is only to
amuse and divert ourselves whilst we are here, I judge nothing
either ill-timed or ill-placed which serves to answer that pur-
pose. For which reason, though we have had much about
Calandrino already, yet I will venture to give you another
story concerning him ; in relating which, were I disposed to
vary from the truth, I should carefully have disguised it in
different names ; but, as romancing upon these occasions
greatly lessens the pleasure of the hearer, I shall report it in
its true shape, relying on the reason before assigned.

Niccolo Cornacchini was a citizen of ours, and a very
rich man, who amongst his other estates, was possessed of one
at Cameratta, where he built himself a seat, and agreed with
Bruno and Buffalmacco to paint it, but there being a great
deal of work, they took Nello and Calandrino in to assist them.
Where, as there were some chambers furnished, and an old
woman there to look after the house, a son of this Niccolo's
named Philippo, being a gay young gentleman, would fre-
quently bring a mistress thither for a day or two, and then
send her away. Amongst the rest that used to come along
with him, was one named Niccolosa. an agreeable and face-
tious woman enough, who going from her chamber one morn-
ing, in a loose, white bedgown, to wash Tier hands and face
at°a fountain in the court, it happened that Calandrino was
there at the same time, when he made his compliments to her,
which she returned with a kind of a smile at the oddity of the
man. Upon this he began to look wistfully at her, and seeing
she was very handsome, he found pretences for staying, but

NOVEL V. 443

durst not speak a word ; still her looks seemed to give him
encouragement, whilst the poor man became so enamoured,
that he had no power to leave the place, till Philippo chan-
ced to call her into the house. He then returned to his friend
in a most piteous taking, which Bruno perceiving, said, " What
the devil is the matter with you, that you seem to be in all
this trouble?" He replied, " Ah ! my friend, if I had any one
to assist me, I should do well enough." " As how ?" quoth the
other, " I will tell you," he replied, "The most beautiful wo-
man you ever saw, exceeding even the fairy queen herself, fell in
love with me just now, as I went to the well." "Alas !" said
Bruno, "you must take care it be not Philippo's mistress."
" I believe it is the same," he replied ; " for she went away
the moment he called her : but why should I mind that ?
Was she the king's, I would lie with her, if I could."
" Well," quoth Bruno, " I will find out who it is, and if she
proves the same, I can tell you in two words what you have to
do ; for we are well acquainted together; but how shall we
manage, that Buffalmacco may know nothing of the matter?
J can never speak to her but he will be present." "As to
Buffalmacco," said he, " I am in no pain for him ; but we must
take care of Nello ; he is my wife's relation, and would spoil
our whole scheme." Now Bruno knew her very well, and as
Calandrino was gone out one day, to get a sight of her, he
acquainted Buffalmacco and Nello with it, when they agreed
together what to do in the thing. Upon his return, there-
fore, Bruno whispered him, and said, " Have you seen her?"
" Alas! quoth he, " I have, and she has slain me outright."
"I will go and see," said he again, " whether it be the per-
son I mean ; if it should, you may leave the whole to me."
So he went and told Philippo what had passed, and how they
had resolved to serve him ; when he came back, and said, "It
is the same, therefore we must be very cautious ; for if Philip-
po should chance to find it out, all the water in the river would
never wash off the guilt in his sight. But wdiat shall I say to
her on vour part ?" He replied, " First you must let her
know that she shall have joy and pleasure without end, and af-
terwards that 1 am her most obedient servant, and so forth.
Do you take me right?" " Yes," quoth Bruno, " I do, and
you may now trust me to manage for you" When supper-time
came, they left their work, and went down into the court, where
they found Philippo and his mistress waiting to make them-
selves merry with the poor man, whilst Calandrino began to
ogle her in such a manner, that a person that was blind almost
must have perceived it ; in the mean time Philippo pretend-
ed to be talking to the others, as if he saw nothing of the mat-
ter. But after some time they parted ; and as they were re-
turning to Florence, said Bruno to Calandrino, " I tell you,
now, that you have made her melt like ice before the sun ;

414 NINTH DAY.

do you bring your guitar, and play her a tune, and she
will throw herself out of the window to you." " Do you
think so?" quoth Calandrino. "Most certainly," replied
the other. " Well," quoth he again, " who but myself could
have made such a conquest in so small a time ? I am not like
your young fellows, that whine for years together to no man-
ner of purpose. Oh ! you would be vastly pleased to hear me
play and sing : besides, I am not old, as you suppose, which
I will soon convince her of." Thus he was so overjoyed, that
he could scarcely contain himself, and accordingly the next
morning he carried his instrument with him, and diverted them
all very much ; whilst he was running to the window, and
to the door, at every turn, to see her, so that he did lictle or
no work.

Bruno, on the other part, answered all his messages, as
from her ; and when she was not there, he would bring let-
ters, which gave him hopes that she would soon gratify his
desires, but that then she was with her relations, and could
not see him. — Thus they diverted themselves at his expense
for some time, often getting little presents from him to her,
as a purse or knife, or some such thing, for which he brought
him in return counterfeit rings of no value, with which he was
vastly delighted. Having gone on in this manner for two
months, when seeing that the work was near finished, and
imagining that unless he brought his love to a conclusion be-
fore that time, he should have no opportunity of doing it af-
terwards, he began to be very urgent with Bruno about it.
When the lady being returned, and Bruno having conferred
with her and Philippo upon the matter, he said to Calan-
drino, " You know that she has made us a thousand promises
to no purpose, so that it appears to me as if she only did it
to lead us by the nose : my advice, therefore, is, that we will
make her comply, whether she will or not." The other re-
plied, " Let us do it then immediately." " But," says
Bruno, " will your heart serve you to touch her with a certain
charm that I shall give you? " "You need not doubt that,"
quoth Calandrino. " Then," continued Bruno," you must pro-
cure me a little virgin-parchment, a living bat, three grains
of incense, and a consecrated candle." All that night was he
employed in taking a bat, which at length he brought with
the other things to Bruno, who went into a room by him-
self, and scribbled some odd characters upon the parch-
ment, when he gave it him, saying, " Be careful only to touch
her with this, and she will do that moment what you would
have her. Therefore, if Philippo should go from home, take an
opportunity of coming near, and having touched her, then
go into the barn, which is a most convenient place for your
purpose, whither she will follow you, when you know what you
have to do." Calandrino received it with great joy, saying,

NOVEL V. 445

" Let me alone for that." Whilst Nello, whom he was most
afraid of, was as deep as any in the plot, and went, by Bru-
no's direction, to Calandrino's wife, at Florence, when he
said, " Cousin, you have now a fair opportunity to revenue
yourself of your husband, for his beating you the other day
without cause : if you let it slip, I will never look upon you
more, either as a relation or friend. He has a mistress, whom
he is frequently with, and at this very time they have made
an appointment to meet ; then pray be a witness to it, and
correct him as he deserves." This seemed to her beyond a
jest ; so she said, " Oh, the villain ! But I will pay all his
old scores." Accordingly, taking her hood, and a woman
to bear her company, she went along with him ; and when
Bruno saw them at a distance, he said to Philippo, " Behold,
our friends are coming ; you know what you have to do." On
this, Philippo went where Calandrino and the people were
at work, and said, " Sirs, I must go to Florence ; you will take
care not to be idle when I am away." And he went and
hid himself in a place where he might see what passed ; whilst
Calandrino, thinking that he was far enough off, went into
the court, where he found the lady, who, well knowing what
he meant to do, came near to him, and shewed herself freer
than usual, upon which he touched her with the writing, ana
then withdrew towards the barn, whilst she followed him
in, and shut the door ; when, laying fast hold about his arms,
without suffering him to stir at all, she stood for some time
as if she was feasting her eyes with the sight of him. At
length she cried out, " O my dear Calandrino ! my life ! my
soul ! my only comfort ! how long have I desired to have thee
in this manner ?" He unable to move, said, " My clearest joy !
do let me have one kiss." " My jewel," replied she, " thou
art in too much haste; let me satisfy myself first with ga-
zing upon thee." Bruno, Buffalmacco, and Philippo, heard
and saw all this ; and just as he was striving to get a kiss
from her comes Nello along with the wife, who immediately
said, "I vow they are together." With this she burst open the
door, which, when Niccolosa saw, she left her spark, and went to
Philippo ; whilst the wife ran and seized him by the hair, cry-
ing out, "You poor pitiful rascal, to dare to serve me in tins
manner! You old villain you ! What! have you not enough
to do at home ? A fine fellow, truly, to pretend to a mistress,
with his old worn-out carcass! and she as fine a lady, to
take up with such a precious thing as you are !" He was
confounded to that degree, that he made no defence ; so she
beat him as she pleased, till at length he humbly begged of
her not to make that clamour, unless she had a mind to
have him murdered, for that the lady was no less a person
than the wife of the master of the house. "A plague con-
found her," she said, be she who she will.
2 Q

448 NINTH DAY.

Bruno and Buffalmacco, who with Philippo and Niccoio-
sa, had been laughing heartily at what passed, came in upon
them now, as though they had been drawn thither by the
noise, when they pacified her with much ado ; persuading him
to go home, and to come no more, for fear Philippo should do
him a mischief. So he went to Florence, miserably scratch-
ed and beaten, without having the heart ever to return ; and,
plagued with the perpetual reproaches of his wife, he put an
end to his most fervent love, after having afforded great
matter for diversion to his friends, Niccolosa, and to Philippo.

447

THE NINTH DAY,

NOVEL VI.

Two young gentlemen lie at an inn, one of whom goes to bed-
to the landlord's daughter ; whilst the ivife, by mistake, lies
with the other. Afterwards, he that had lain with the daugh-
ter, gets to bed to the father, and tells him all that had
■passed, thinking it had been his friend : a great uproar is
made about it; upon which the wife goes to bed to the
daughter, and very cunningly sets all to rights again.

Calandrino, who had so often diverted the company, made
them laugh once more : when the queen laid her next com-
mands upon Pamphilus, who therefore said: —

Ladies, the name of Niccolosa, mentioned in the last, puts
me in mind of a novel concerning- another of the same name ;
in which will be shewn, how the subtle contrivance of a cer-
tain good woman was the means of preventing a great deal of
scandal.

In the plain of Mugnone lived an honest man, not a long
time since, who kept a little hut for the entertainment of tra-
vellers, serving them with meat and drink for their money ;
but seldom lodging any, unless they were his particular ac-
quaintance. Now he had a wife, a good comely woman, by
whom he had two children, the one an infant, and the other a
girl of about fifteen or sixteen years of age, but unmarried,
who had taken the fancy of a young gentleman of our city,
one who used to travel much that way : whilst she, proud of
such a lover, by endeavouring, with her agreeable carriage, to
preserve his good opinion, soon felt the same liking for him :
which love of theirs would several times have taken effect, to
the desire of both, had not Pinuccio, for that was the young
gentleman's name, carefully avoided it, for her credit as well
as his own. Till at last his love growing every day more fer-
vent, he resolved, in order to gain his point, to lie all night at
her father's house, that it might then be effected without any
one's privity. Accordingly he let a friend of his, named
Adriano, into the secret, who had been acquainted with his

448 NINTH DAY.

love : so they hired a couple of horses one evening, and hav-
ing their portmanteaus behind them filled with things of no
moment, they set out from Florence ; and, after taking a cir-
cuit, came, as it grew late, to the plain of Mugnone ; when
turning their horses, as if they had come from Romagna, they
rode on to this cottage, and knocking at the door, the land-
lord, who was always very diligent in waiting upon his guests,
immediately went and opened it; when Pinuccio accosted him
and said, " Honest landlord, we must beg the favor of a
night's lodging, for we designed to have reached Florence, but
have so managed, that it is now much too late, as you see."
The host replied, " Sir, you know very well how ill I can
accommodate such gentlemen as yourselves ; but, as you are
come in at an unseasonable hour, and there is no time for your
travelling any farther, I will entertain you as well as I can."
So they dismounted, and went into the house, having first
taken care of their horses; and as they had provision along
with them, they sat down and supped with him. Now there
was only one little chamber in the house, which had three
beds in it; namely, two at one end, and the third at the other,
opposite to them, with just room to go between. The least
bad and incommodious of which, the landlord ordered to be
sheeted for these two gentlemen, and put them to bed. A
little time afterwards, neither of them being asleep, though
they pretended it, he made the daughter lie in one of the
beds that remained, and he and his wife went into the other,
whilst she set the cradle with the child by her bed-side.
Things being so disposed, and Pinuccio having made an ex-
act observation of every particular, as soon as he thought it a
proper time, and that every one was asleep, he arose, and went
softly to the bed of the daughter, where he continued to his
great satisfaction. In the mean time, a cat happened to
throw something down in the house, which awakened the good
woman, who, fearing it was something else, got up in the dark,
and went where she had heard the noise. Whilst Adriano
rose by chance, upon a particular occasion, and finding
the cradle in his way, he removed it without any design, near-
er to his own bed ; and having done what he rose for, went
to bed again, without taking care to put the cradle in its
place. The good woman, finding what was thrown down
to be of no moment, never troubled herself to strike a light,
to see farther about it, but returned to the bed where her hus-
band lay; and not finding the cradle, " Bless me," said she
to herself, " I had like to have made a strange mistake, and
gone to bed to my guests!" Going farther then, and finding
the cradle which stood by Adriano, she stepped into bed to
him, thinking it had been her husband. He was awake,
and treated her very kindly, without saying a word all the time
to undeceive her. At length Pinuccio fearing lest he should

NOVEL VI. 449

fall asleep, and so be surprised with his mistress, after having
made the best use of his time, left her to return to his own
bed : when meeting with the cradle, and supposing that was
the host's bed, he went farther, and stepped into the host's
bed indeed, who immediately awoke ; and Pinuccio think-
ing it was his friend, said to him, " Surely, nothing was ever
so sweet as Niccolosa ; never man was so blessed as I have
been with her all night long." The host hearing of this, and
not liking it over well, said first to himself, " What the devil
is the man doing here ?" Afterwards, being more passionate
than wise, he cried out, " Thou art the greatest of villains to
use one in that manner ; but I vow to God 1 will pay tbee for
it." Pinuccio, who was none of the sharpest men in the
world, seeing his mistake, without ever thinking how to amend
it, as he might have done, replied, " You pay me? What
can you do ?" The hostess, imagining that she had been with
her husband, said to Adriano, ''Alas! dost thou hear our
guests? What is the matter with them?" He replied,
with a laugh, "Let them be hanged if they will, they got
drunk, I suppose, last night." The woman now distinguish-
ing her husband's voice, and hearing Adriano, soon knew where
she was, and with whom. Therefore she very wisely got up,
without saying a word, and removed the cradle, though there
was no light in the chamber, as near as she could guess, to
her daughter's bed, and crept in to her; when, seeming as if
she had been awakened with their noise, she called out to her
husband, to know what was the matter with him and the gen-
tleman. The husband replied, " Do not you hear what he says
he has been doing to-night with our daughter?" "He is a
liar," quoth she, " he was never in bed with her, it was I,
and I assure you I have never closed my eyes since. There-
fore you were to blame to give any credit to him. You drink
to that degree in the evening, that you rave all night long,
and walk up and down, without knowing anything of the mat-
ter, and think you do wonders ; lam surprised you do not
break your neck. But what is that gentleman doing there ?
why is he not in his own bed!" Adriano, on the other side,
perceiving that the good woman had found a very artful
evasion, both for herself and daughter, said, " Pinuccio, I
have told you a hundred times that you should never lie
out of your own house ; for that great failing of yours, of
walking in your sleep, and telling your dream's for truth, will
be of ill consequence to you some time or other. Come here
then to your own bed." The landlord hearing what his wife
said, and what Adriano had just been speaking, began to
think Pinuccio was really dreaming ; so he got up and shook
him by the shoulders to rouse him, saying, " Awrake, and
get thee to thy own bed." Pinuccio, understanding what had
passed, began now to ramble in his talk, like a man that
2 q 2

450 NINTH DAY.

was dreaming1, with which our host made himself vastly merry.
At last he seemed to awake, after much ado ; and calling to
Adriano, he said, " Is it day ? what do you wake me for?"
" Yes, it is," quoth he, " pray come hither." He, pretending
to be very sleepy, got up at last, and went to Adriano. And in
the morning the landlord laughed very heartily, and was
full of jokes about him and his dreams. So they passed from
one merry subject to another, whilst their horses were getting
ready, and their portmanteaus tying upon them ; when, ta-
king the host's parting cup, they mounted and went to Flo-
rence, no less pleased with the manner of the thing's being ef-
fected, than what followed. Afterwards Pinuccio contrived
other means of being with Niccolosa, who still affirmed to her
mother that she was asleep. Whilst she, well remember-
ing how she had fared with Adriano, thought herself the only
person that had been awake.

THE NINTH DAY.

NOVEL VII.

Talano di Molese dreamed that a wolf tore his ivife's face and
throat ; and lie bids her take care of herself : but she not re-
garding him, it liappens as he dreamed.

Pamphilus's novel being concluded, and the good woman's
ready thought much commended, the queen turned next to
Pampinea, who spoke as follows : —

We have had a great deal heretofore upon the subject of
dreams, which many people think nothing of; but notwith-
standing what has been said, I shall relate what happened,
not long since, to a neighbour of mine, for not believing her
husband's dream.

I do not know whether you are acquainted with Talano
di Molese, a man ot great worth : he had a wife, a very hand-
some woman, but the most fantastical, cross-grained piece of
stuff that could be ; insomuch, that she would never do any-
thing that was agreeable to other people, neither could any
thing ever be done to please her ; which, though a great af-
fliction to him, Talano was forced to bear with. Now it hap-
pened one night as they were together at a country house of
his, that he dreamed he saw her going through a pleasant
grove not far from his house, when a monstrous fierce wolf

NOVEL VII. 451

seemed to leap from a corner of it, which seized her by the
throat, and threw her down, and would have dragged her away,
whilst she cried out aloud for help ; and upon the wolf's leav-
ing her, it appeared that her face and throat were most miser-
ably torn. In consequence of this dream, he said to her in the
morning, " Wife, though your nasty froward temper would
never suffer me to have one happy day with you, yet I should
be sorry if any harm was to befal you ; therefore, if you would
be ruled by me, you should not stir out of your house to-day."
Being asked the reason, he related his whole dream. Upon
which she shook her head, and said, " He that means a per-
son ill, dreams the same. You express a good deal of concern
for me indeed, but you dream only as you could wish it :
assure yourself, however, that both now and at all times, I
shall be very careful not to give you any such pleasure."
Talano replied, " 1 really thought what you would say; such
thanks a person has for currying a scald head ! But think as
you will, I spoke it with a good design, and I advise you again
to stay at home, or at least nol to go into such a grove."
" Well," she replied, " I will oblige you in that." After-
wards she began to say to herself, " This rogue has been ma-
king an assignation with some base woman or other in yonder
place, and thinks to fright me from going thither : I should
be blind, indeed, not to see through this artifice ; but I will see
what sort of cattle they are he is to meet, though I stay the
whole day." Having said this, the husband was no sooner out
of one door but she went out at the other, posting away to the
grove ; and being come into the thickest part of it, she stood
waiting to see whether any body came. Continuing upon
the watch in this manner, without any fears of the wolf,
behold, a monstrous large one rushed out of a close thicket
and seized her by the throat, before she had time, from the
first seeing of it, to say so much, as Lord help me ! and was
carrying her away as he would a lamb. She could make no
noise, because he pinched her throat, nor was she able to help
herself in any other manner, so thai she must inevitably have
been strangled had he not come in the way of some shepherds,
who made a noise, and forced him to quit her. When, being
known by them, she was carried to her own house, ail torn as
she was, attended by several surgeons, who made a cure at
last; yet not in such a manner, but that one side of her face
was strangely seamed and disfigured, so that there was an end
of her beauty. Afterwards, being ashamed to appear abroad,
did she lament all her life long her perverse disposition, in
not giving credit, in a point which would have cost her
nothing, to the true dream of her husband.

452

THE NINTH DAY.

NOVEL VIII.

Biondello imposes upon one Ciacco with regard to a dinner ; who
revenges himself afterwards, and causes the. other to be soundly
beaten.

It was generally agreed, that what Talano had seen in his
sleep was no dream, but rather a vision ; every part of it having
so exactly come to pass. But, being all silent, the queen
commanded Lauretta to follow, who therefore said : —

As everybody that has spoken hitherto, has given something
which has been treated of before — the severe revenge taken
by the scholar, as related by Pampinea, reminds me of ano-
ther revenge, grievous enough to the person concerned, al-
though less cruel than that was.

In Florence there was a man, the greatest epicure perhaps
that ever was born, for which reason he was nicknamed Ciac-
co, i. e. glutton ; who, unable to support the expense which
such a craving disposition required, and being in other res-
pects, a very agreeable and merry companion, he used fre-
quently to go amongst the rich people such particularly as
loved to live well, and to dine and sup with them, though per-
haps he was not always invited. There was also a dapper
spark called Biondello, a perfect butterfly : so exact and fini-
cal always as to his person, that there never was a hair amiss;
and he followed the same way of life. Being therefore in the
fish-market one morning in Lent, and buying a couple of very
large lampreys for Signor Vieri de' Cierchi, he was taken no-
tice of by the other, who immediately asked who they were
for? He replied, " Yesterday Signor Corso Donati had three
larger than these sent him along with a sturgeon ; which, not
thinking sufficient for all his company, he has ordered me to
buy two more : will not you go V Ciacco replied, " You know
very well that I shall." So soon as he thought it was the time,
he went to Signor Ccrso's house, when he found him with
some of his neighbours, dinner not being quite ready, who
asked him whither he was going? He replied, "Sir I came
to dine with you and your friends." Signor Corso replied,
" You are welcome ; it is about the time then, let us go in."
So they sat down to some peas, and a few small fish fried,
without anything more. Giacco now saw the trick, and re

NOVEL VIII. 453

solved to return it. A few days afterwards he met with Bion-
dello, who had made many people merry with the thing, who
had accosted him, asking, how be liked Signo Corso's lam-
preys 1 Ciacco replied, " Before eight days are at an end, you
will know much better than I." So the moment he
parted from him, he met with a porter, whom he carried near
to the hall of Cavicciuli, where he shewed him a certain
knight named Philippo Argenti, the most boisterous ill-con-
ditioned man that could be ; and he said, " Go, take this
bottle in your hand, and say thus to yonder gentleman, " Sir,
Biondello gives his service, and desires you would erubinate
this flask with some of your best red wine, to treat his
friends with ;" but take care he does not lay his hands upon
you, for you would have a bad time of it if he should, and
my scheme be quite defeated." Quoth the porter, " Must 1
say any thing else ? " " No," said Ciacco, " only say as I bid
you, and when you come here again I will pay you." Ac-
cordingly the man delivered his message, whilst Philippo, who
was easily provoked, imagining that this was done on pur-
pose to enrage him, arose in a great passion, saying, " Stay a
little, honest friend, and I will give thee what thou comest
for ;" and was going to have laid hold of him ; but the man
was aware of it, and took to his heels ; returning to Ciacco,
who saw the whole proceeding, and who paid him with a great
deal of pleasure. His next business was to find out Bion-
dello ; when he said, " Have you been lately at the Cavicciu-
li ?" " No," he replied, " but why do you ask the question ?
" Because," quoth he, " Philippo has been every where to
seek for you ; I do not know what it is for." " Then," said
he, " I will go and speak to him." So he went, whilst the other
followed at some distance, to see how he would be received.
Now Philippo had not yet digested the porter's message, and
thinking over and over about it, he concluded it could have
no other meaning than that Biondello had a mind to affront
him. In the mean time Biondello comes up to him, when he
arose, and struck him with his double nst ; whilst Bion-
dello cried out, " Alas! what is this for?" He took him by the
hair, and threw him upon the ground, saying, " Villain, I will
teach thee to make thy jests of me." At last, after he had
beaten him a good deal, the people interposed, and rescued
him : telling him how it came to pass, and blaming him for
the message : adding, " You should know Philippo better
than to exercise any of your wit upon him." He protested that
he never sent any such message, and departed full of grief to
his own house, concluding that this was a trick of Ciacco.
Some time afterwards, Ciacco happened to meet with him,
when he said, with a laugh, " Well ! what think you of Phi-
lippo's wine ?" He replied, " Just as you thought of Corso's
lampreys." " Whenever you are disposed then," quoth Ciac-
co, " to give me such a dinner, I can give you as good wine

454 NINTH DAY.

as this you have tasted." Biondello now finding that the other
was more than his match, begged to be friends, and from that
time took care to give him no more provocation.

THE NTNTH DAY.

NOVEL IX.

Two yonng men go to King Solomon for his advice ; the one to
know how he is to behave to be beloved ; the other how to man-
age an untoward wife. To the first, he replies, Love ; to the
second, Go to Ooosebridge.

Only the queen now remained to speak, saving his privilege
to Dioneus ; who, after they had laughed at the unfortunate
Biondello, began in this manner : —

Whoever rightly considers the order of things, may plainly
see, the whole race of woman-kind is by nature, custom, and
the laws, made subject to man, to be governed according to
his direction : therefore it is the duty of every one of us, that
desires to have ease, comfort, and repose, with those men to
whom we belong, to be humble, patient, and obedient, as well
as chaste. And though the laws, which regard the good of the
community, may not teach this in every particular, yet it is
plainly shewn by nature, who has formed us with delicate
and sickly constitutions, our minds timorous and fearful, and
our voices soft and pleasing. Whom should we have for rulers
and helpers but men 1 To them, therefore, let us submit
ourselves with all due reverence and honor ; I am led
to these reflections by what Pampinea has just now told us
of the perverse wife of Talano, on whom Providence inflicted
a heavier judgment than the husband ever could have thought
of. I shall give you some of Solomon's advice, as a salutary
medicine, which 1 would not have understood by such as
stand in no need of it, as if any way designed for them. Al-
though men have the following proverb, " A good horse, and a
bad one, both require spurs : a good wife, and a bad one, both
want a cudgel." Which words we will admit to be true, if
spoken only by way of mirth and pastime ; and even in a mo-
ral sense, we will allow that women are naturally prone and
unstable, and therefore a stick may be requisite to correct
the evil dispositions of some, as well as to support the virtue
of others, who behave with more discretion, and to be a terror

NOVEL IX, 455

to prevent them from offending. But to let preaching alone,
and to proceed with my story.

The fame of Solomon's wonderful wisdom being carried
throughout the whole world, and his being very communi-
cative to such as resorted to him for proofs of it, people were
flocking to him from all parts to beg his advice in their most
urgent and momentous affairs. Amongst the rest was a
young nobleman of great wealth, called Melisso, who came
from the city of Laiazzo, where he was born and dwelt ; and
as he was riding on towards Jerusalem, he happened, going
out of Antioch, to meet with another young gentleman,
named Gioseffo, passing the same road, when they travelled
for some time together, falling into discourse, and knowing
who Gioseffo was, and from whence he came, he inquired whi-
ther he was going, and upon what account. When Gioseffo
replied, that he was going to King Solomon for advice, what
method to take with a most perverse ill-conditioned woman
that he had married, and whom no entreaties nor fair speeches
had the least effect upon her to cure her of that temper. He
then asked whither he was bound, and upon what occasion.
Melisso made answer, " I am of Laiazzo, and have an affair
that troubles me in like manner ; I am rich, and keep a
most noble table, entertaining all my fellow-citizens, and yet
it is a most unaccountable thing, there is nobody that cares for
or respects me : so I am going to the same place, to know what
I must do to be beloved." Thus they rode on together till they
came to Jerusalem ; when they were introduced to King Solo-
'mon by one of his barons. Melisso briefly set forth his mis-
fortune, and Solomon replied, " Learn to love." Immediately
he was shewn out of doors, and Gioseffo related his grievance :
when Solomon made no reply but this, " Go to Goosebridge."
Accordingly he was also dismissed ; and coming to Melisso,
who was waiting for him without, he told him what the an-
swer was he had received ; who thinking much upon the words,
and being able to find out no sense or meaning in them, or
to draw any use from them, they considered it as all a mock-
ery, and were making the best of their way home again. Af-
ter travelling some days, they came to a bridge, where being
a great caravan of mules and horses laden, they were obliged
to stay till they had passed. The greatest part was now on
the other side ; but there was a mule that took fright, which
would by no means go over : upon which one of the dri-
vers took a stick, and began to beat her gently, in order
to make her pass ; but she leaped this way, and that way, and
sometimes would turn back; therefore, when he found her so
stubborn, be began to lay on as hard as ever he could strike,
but all to no purpose. This our two gentlemen saw, and
would often say to the man, " You sorry rascal ! have you a
mind to kill the mule? You should lead her gently over; she
will go better in that manner than by so much beating. The

456 NINTH DAY.

man replied, "Gentlemen, you know your horses, and I know
my mule ; suffer me, then, to manage her as I will. And he
heat her again, laying on her so thick, that at last he got the
better of her, and made her pass. So as they were going
away, Gioseffo asked a man, that was sitting at the end of the
bridge, what the name of it was? "Sir," quoth the man,
" this place is called Goosebridge." This made him call
to mind the words of Solomon ; and he said to Melisso,
" Now trust me, friend, Solomon's counsel may be very good
and true ; for I never yet beat my wife, but this man hath just
now shewn me what I have to do." And, coming to Antioch,
he kept Melisso at his house for some days, when, being re-
ceived by her with great joy, he ordered her to dress the sup-
per according to Melisso's direction, who, seeing that it was
his friend's will, gave his instructions- for that purpose. But
she, according to custom, did every thing quite the reverse of
what Melisso had told her ; which Gioseffo saw with a good
deal of vexation, and said, " Were not you told in what man-
ner to dress this supper?" She replied, with great disdain,
" What is that to you ? If you have a mind to eat, do ; if not,
you may let it alone." Melisso was surprised at her reply,
and began to blame her for it. But Gioseffo said, " I find,
Madam, you are still the same persor , but I will make you
change your manners." Then, turning to Melisso, he added,
" Well, we shall now make trial of Solomon's advice; how-
ever, I must beg of you to consider it all as a joke, and not
to offer me any hindrance; but remember what the man said,
when we were pitying the mule." Quoth Melisso, '• I am in
your house, and shall conform to your pleasure." So he
took a good oaken stick, and followed her into the cham-
ber, whither she was gone in a pet, and began to give her
some severe discipline. When she cried out, and threatened
him very much ; but finding that he still persisted, she threw
herself on her knees, and begged for mercy, promising that for
the future she would always he obedient to his will and plea-
sure. He continued, nevertheless, laying on till he was weary,
that in short she had not a free part about her. And when
he had done, he came to Melisso, and said, " To-morrow we
shall see the effect of the advice to go to Goosebridge." Then
he washed his hands, and they sat down to supper, and after-
wards, when it was the time, they went to repose themselves.
The poor lady had much trouble to get up from the ground,
when she threw herself upon the bed, and betimes in the
morning she arose and sent to her husband, to know what
he would have for dinner. He smiled at this, with his friend,
and told her.

When the time came, therefore, they found every thing
prepared according to the directions given ; upon which they
highly commended the advice which they had so ill-under-
stood. Some time afterwards Melisso parted from Gioseffo,

'

NOVEL IX. '4o7

and went home ; when he acquainted a certain wise man in
the neighbourhood with what Solomon had told him ; who
said, " No better or truer advice could possibly be given you ;
you know that you have a regard for no one person, and that
the entertainments you make are for no love you bear those,
people, but only mere pomp and show. Love, then, as Solomon
advises, and you shall be beloved." Thus the unruly woman
was managed, and the man by loving others was himself be-
loved.

THE TENTH MY.

NOVEL X.

Don John, at the request of his companion Peter, proceeds by en-
chantment to turn his wife into a mare : but Peter breaks the
enchantment.

The foregoing novel related by the queen, though it made
the men laugh, caused some disapprobation among the ladies ;
but they were presently appeased ; and it being the 'turn of
Dioneus, he said: —

By your leave, fair ladies, I will tell you a tale which shall
not be so long, by which you will understand, how carefully
we must observe whatever is commanded by those who are
about to do anything by force of incantation, and how a tri-
fling mistake will frustrate everything the enchantment would
have effected.

There was last year at Barletta, a priest named Don John
of Barolo, whose benefice being so poor as not to afford a suf-
ficient livelihood, he began with a single mare, to carry on a
traffic at the fairs of Puglia. In travelling die country he be-,
came particularly intimate with a man who followed the same
trade, and carried his merchandise on an ass, and who was
called Pietro di Tresanti. Dun John, in token of kindness
and friendship, and according to the custom of Puglia, never
called his acquaintance otherwise than " Comrade Peter ;" and
whenever lie came to Barletta he invited him to sleep at his
poor dwelling, and gave him the best cheer in his power.
Peter, however, was still poorer, having only a little cabin in
the village of Tresanti, which was merely big enough for him-
self, his young and handsome wife, and his ass ; nevertheless,
when Don John came to Tresanti lip brought him to his cab-
in, and received and honored him in the best manner he
2 R

458 NINTH DAY.

could, out of gratitude for the treatment he had met with at
Barletta. But when bed-time arrived, Peter could not acco-
modate Don John in the manner he could wish, for he had
hut one little bed for himself and his wife ; therefore Don
John was obliged to sleep on some straw near to his mare, who
was lodged in a little stable with the ass. Peter's wife know-
log the hospitable reception which the priest gave her hus-
band when he went to Barletta, was desirous of going to sleep
with a female neighbour, in order that he might have her half
of the bed. The priest would not suffer this, but said to her,
"My good Dame Gemmata, be not troubled on my account,
for I am very well off; I can when I please turn this mare
into a beautiful girl, and be happy with her ; and when 1 wish
to go, I can again transform her into a mare : therefore I ne-
ver separate myself from her." The young wife was greatly
astonished at this, but believing it implicitly, related it to her
husband, saying, " If he is so much your friend as you tell me,
why do you not make him teach you this enchantment, in order
that you might make a mare of me, and carry on your business
with the ass and the mare, by which means we should gain
double : when we came home, you could make me return into
a woman as I am." Peter, who was more dull than otherwise,
thought well of it, agreed to her proposition, and began with
the best grace he could put on, to solicit Don John to teach
him the secret. Don John endeavored to persuade him from
such nonsense, but Peter would not be refused. He there-
fore said, " Since you will have it so, we must rise to-morrow
as usual, before day-break, and I will show you how it is
done."

Peter and his wife scarcely slept during the night, and
being so anxious about this ati'air, rose the moment the time
had arrived, and called Don John, who got up and came to
their chamber. He said, " I know no one in the world for
whom I would do this but you ; but as it pleases you, I'll do
it : you must however, do what I tell you, if you wish the in-
cantation to succeed." They promised to do everything
he bade them ; Don John then tcok a candle, and putting it
in the hand of Peter, said, " Notice well what I do, and re-
member what I say ; but have a care, as you love yourself,
that whatever you see you uttter not a single word, or you will
spoil the whole." After this, Don John made Gemmata go
down upon all fours, after the manner of a mare. He
then began with his hands to rub her face jand head, saying,
this will be a fine mare's head ; and touching her hair, this
will be a fine mare's main : examining her arms, these will be
fine legs and fine feet for a mare ; there now remained nothing
else to^make but the tail. Peter, who to this moment had si-
lently regarded everything that was done, seeing this conclu-
sion/and thinking everything was not right, cried, " Stop, Don
John, I will not have a tail— I will not have a tail." " Alas,

NOVEL X. 459

my dear friend Peter, what have you done ! did I not tell you
not to utter a word about what you saw ; the mare was almost
made; but you have spoilt the whole affair by speakino-, and
'tis now impossible to repair the mischief you have clone."
Peter replied, " It is as well as it is," The young wife hearing
these words, raised herself on her feet, and said, in good ear-
nest, to her husband, "Brute that you are, why have you
ruined both your own fortune and mine ? You are poor ; but
if God aids me, you shall be well employed if you are not still
poorer." There being no other means of turning the younc,
wife into a mare, in consequence of the words spoken by Peter
she, in a grievous and melancholy mood put on her clothes,
and her husband endeavored to carry on his usual business as
he had previously done with his single ass, and did not go
with Don John to the fairs of Bitonto ; nor did he, ever since
that period, seek to enrich himself by the aid of such
services.

This tale was received with considerable laughter, and it
appeared that the ladies understood it better than Dioneus
had intended.

The novels were now concluded, and the queen, knowing
that her reign was at an end, arose, and taking the crown from
her head, she placed it upon Pamphilus, who was the only
person on whom the honor had not yet been conferred, say-
ing, with a smile, " Sir, a very great charge no\v rests upon
you ; for, as you are the last, you have to supply my defect,
and that of the rest who have been in my place, which I hope
you will do." Pamphilus, pleased with the honor done him
replied, " Your virtue, Madam, and that of my other subjects,
will cause me to receive praise, as well as the rest that have
gone before me." So, after giving the usual orders to the
master of the household, he turned to the ladies, and said, "It
was Emilia's great prudence yesterday to let us choose our
own subjects by way of ease and respect: therefore, being
now a little recruited, I will that we return to our old law ; and
for to-morrow the subject shall be as follows : of such persons
who have done some gallant or generous action, either as to
love or any thing else. The relating such stories as these will
kindle in our minds a generous desire of doing the like ; so
that our lives, the continuance of which in these frail bodies
can be but short, may be made immortal in an illustrious name.
The theme was agreeable to the whole assembly. And
with the leave of the new king they parted, and went, as they
were severally disposed, to divert themselves till supper, when
every thing was served up with great elegance and order.
Afterwards they danced as usual, singing also a thousand
songs, more agreeable indeed as to the words than music ;
when the king, at last, ordered Neiphile to give one relating
more to herself, which she did very agreeably in the following
manner :

460 NINTH DAY.

SONG.

Regardful through the meads I stray,
Where flowers their various hues display ;
When all that's sweet and pleasing there,
I to my lover's charms compare.

I pick out such as fairest seem,
And laugh and talk as. 'twere to him,
Which, when my am'rous tale is said,
I to my lover's charms compare.

Whilst thus employ'd an'equal joy
I find, as though himself were by :
How great! no language can reveal,
'lis that my sighs alone can tell :

Which, harshness and distrust apart,
Breathe warm the dictates of my heart;
Such as he ever shall approve,
And meet with equal zeal and love.

The song was much commended by the king, as well as the
whole company: and, a good part of the night being spent,
they were ordered to go and repose themselves till the next
day.

THE DECAMERON.

THE TENTH DAY.

Now began certain little clouds, that were in the west, to
blush with a vermilion tint, when Pamphilus arose, and as-
sembled all his company.

After concluding- whither they wrere to go, he led the wTay
with an easy pace, attended by Philomena and Flammetta, and
taking a considerable circuit, they returned, as the sun grew
warm, to the palace. There, plunging their glasses in the
clear current, they quafTed their morning draughts, from
whence they went amidst the shady walks of the garden to
amuse themselves till dinner. After dining and sleeping as
usual, they met where the king appointed, when he laid his
first commands on Neiphile, who began very pleasantly in
this manner.

NOVEL

A certain knight in the service of the King of Spain thinks himself
not sufficiently rewarded, when the king gives a remarkable
proof that it was not his fault so much as the knight's ill for-'
tune ; and afterwards nobly requites him.

Behold it, ladies, as a singular favor, that the king has ap-
pointed me to speak first on so noble a subject as that of mag-
nificence, I shall relate, therefore, a pleasant novel enough,
in my opinion, and which can be no other than useful.

Know, then, that amongst other worthy knights of our city-
was one Ruggieri de'Figiovanni, who, finding, according to
the dispositions of his countrymen, that he had no opportuni-
ty of shewing his courage at home, resolved to go into the
service of Alphonso, king of Spain, the most celebrated prince
of his time. So he went attended with an honorable train,

462 TENTH DAY.

and was most graciously received by the king, to whom he
soon made his merit known. Continuing then some time
there, and having particular regard to every action of the
king's, he found that he gave away castles, cities, and baron-
ies, sometimes to one, and sometimes to another, without the
least judgment, and that he came in for no part himself.
Therefore, being sensible of his own worth, and fearful lest his
character should suffer by such an oversight, he took a reso-
lution to depart, desiring the king's leave, which was granted
him. His majesty also made him a present of a fine mule,
which was very acceptable, on account of the long journey he
had to perform. After which the king gave it in charge to
one of his servants to contrive to fall in with him upon the
road, but in such a manner that the knight should have no
suspicion of his sending him, when he was to note what he
should say concerning the king in order to carry a full account
back, the next morning he was to command his return with
him to the king. Accordingly the servant waited for the
knight's departure, and soon joined him, giving him to un-
terstand that he was going towards Italy. Thus they rode on,
chattering together. The knight being upon the mule which
the king had given him, and it being now about three o'clock,
he said, " We should do well to give our beasts a little rest."
This being agreed, they put rnem in a stable, when they all,
staled except the mule. Going on afterwards, the servant,
attentive all the time to the knight's words, they came to a river,
where, watering all their beasts, the mule chanced to stale in
the river, which when the knight saw, he said, " Plague on
thee for an ill-conditioned beast, thou art just like thy master
that gave thee to me." The servant took particular notice of
this, and though he had picked up many things upon the road,
there was no other but what redounded to the king's credit ;
so the next morning, as they had mounted their horses, and
were setting out for Italy, he delivered the king's mandate,
upon which the knight immediately turned back. And the
king being informed what he had said concerning the mule,
had him brought before him, when he received him with a
cheerful countenance, demanding why the mule and he were
compared to each other. He very frankly replied, " It is, my
lord, because you give where you ought not, and where you
ought, there you give nothing ; just as the mule would not
stale where she should, but did it where she should not."
" Believe me, Signor Ruggieri," replied the king, " if I have
not given to you as I have done to divers others, who are no
way your equals, this happened not because I have not known
you to be a valiant knight, and deserving of all I could do for
you but it was entirely your ill-fortune, as I will soon con-
vince you." " My lord," answered the knight, " I do not
complain because I have yet received nothing from your ma-
jesty, out of any desire of becoming richer but only as you

NOVEL I. 4(53

have borne testimony in no respect to my virtue; and, though
I hold your excuse to be good, 1 should yet be glad to see
what you promise to shew me, notwithstanding I want no
such proof." The king then led him into a great hall, where,
as he had before given order, stood two large coffers, when
he said, in the presence of many of his lords, " Sir Knight, in
one of these coffers is my imperial crown, sceptre, glohe, with
all the best jewels that I have; the other is filled only with
earth ; then choose which you will, and it shall be yours ; so
you will see whether it is I that am ungrateful to your merit,
or whether it be your ill fortune." Ruggieri, seeing it was
the king's pleasure, made his choice of one, which the king
ordered to be opened, and it was full of earth ; upon which
the king laughed, and said, " You see now, Sir, that what I
said of your fortune is true ; but most assuredly your valour
deserves that I interpose in the case. I know very well
that you have no desire to become a Spaniard, for which reason
I would give you neither castle nor city ; but this chest, which
your ill fortune deprived you of, I will shall be yours, in de-
spite of her. Take it home with you, that you may value
yourself upon your virtue amongst your neighbours and friends,
by this testimony of my bounty." The knight received it,
and, after returning his majesty the thanks that were due
for such a present, departed joyfully therewith to his native
country.

THE TENTH DAY.

NOVEL II,

Ghino di Tacco takes the Abbot of CUgni prisoner, and cures Mm
of a pain in his stomach, and then sets him at liberty ; when he
returns to the court of Rome, and, reconciling him with Pope
Boniface, he is nude prior of an hospital.

Alfhonso's magnificence was much applauded, when the
kins;, laid his next commands upon Eliza, and she immediately
said, —

For a king to be magnificient, and to give proofs of it to a
person that had served him, must be allowed a great and com-
mendable action. But what will you say to the wonderful
generosity of a clergyman, towards one too that was his enemy :
if the one was a virtue in a king, the other in a churchman
was a perfect prodigy. This thing therefore (I mean the

464 TENTH DAY.

generosity of a certain prelate) will be made appear in the
following story.

Gliino di Taceo was a man famous for his bold and inso-
lent robberies, who being banished from Siena, and at utter
enmity with the counts di Santa Fiore, caused the town of
Radicofani to rebel against the church, and lived there whilst
his gang robbed all who passed that way. Now when Boni-
face the Eighth was pope, there came to court the abbot of Clig-
ni, reputed to be one of the richest prelates in the world, and
having debauched his stomach with high living he was advised
by his physicians, to go to the bath of Siena, as a certain cure.
And, having leave from the pope, he set out with a goodly irain
of coaches, carriages, horses and servants, paying no respect to
the rumours concerning this robber. Gbino was apprised of
his coming, and took his measures accordingly ; when, without
the loss of a man, he enclosed the abbot and his whole retinue
in a nai-row defile, where it was impossible for them to escape.
This being done, he sent one of his principal fellows to the
abbot, with his service, requesting the favor of him to alight
and visit him at his castle. Upon which the abbot replied,
with a great deal of passion, that he had nothing to do with
Ghino, but that his resolution was to go on, and he would see
who dared to stop him. " My Lord," quoth the man, with
a great deal of humility, " you are now in a place where ail
excommunications are kicked out of doors ; then please to
oblige my master in this thing ; it will be your best way."
Whilst they were talking together, the place was surrounded
with highwaymen, and the abbot, seeing himself a prisoner,
went with a great deal of ill-will with the fellow to the cas-
tle, followed by his whole retinue, where he dismounted, and
was lodged, by Ghino's appointment, in a poor, dark, little
room, whilst every other person was well accommodated ac-
cording to his respective station, and the carriages and all the
horses taken great care of. This being done, Ghino went to the
abbot, and said, " My Lord, Ghino, whose guest you are,
requests the favor of you to let him know whither you are
going, and upon what account?" The abbot was wise enough
to lay all his haughtiness aside for the present, and satis-
fied him with regard to both. Ghino went away at hearing
this, and resolving to cure him without a bath, he ordered a
great fire to be constantly kept in his room, coming to him no
more till next morning, when he brought him two slices of
toasted bread, in a fine napkin, and a large glass of his own
rich white wine, saying to him, " My Lord, when Ghino was
young, he studied physic, and he declares, that the very best
medicine for a pain in the stomach is what he has now pro-
vided for you, of which these things are to be the beginning.
Then take them, and have a good heart." The abbot, whose
hunger was much greater than was his will to joke, eat the
bread, though with a great deal of indignation, and drank the

NOVEL II. 465

glass of wine ; after which he began to talk a little arrogant-
ly, asking many questions, and demanding more particularly
to see this Ghino. But Ghino passed over part ofwhat he said
as vain, and the rest he answered very courteously, declaring
that Ghino meant to make him a visit very soon, and then left
him. He saw him no more till the morning, when he brought
him as much bread and wine as before, and in the same man-
ner. And thus he continued during many days, till he found
the abbot had eat some dried heans, which he had left pur-
posely in the chamber, when he inquired of him, as from Ghi-
no, how he found his stomach ? The abbot replied, " I should
be well enough were I out of this man's clutches. There is no-
thing I want now so much as to eat, for his medicines have
had such an effect upon me, that I am fit to die with hunger."
Ghino, then, having furnished a room with the abbot's own
goods, and provided an elegant entertainment, to which many
people of the town were invited, as well as the abbot's own
domestics, went the next morning to him, and said, " My Lord,
now you find yourself recovered, it is time for you to quit this in-
firmary." So he took him by the hand, and led him into the
chamber, leaving him there with his own people ; and as he
went out to give orders about the feast, the abbot was giving
an account how he had led his life in that place, whilst
they declared that they had been used by Ghino with all pos-
sible respect. When the time came, they sat down, and were
nobly entertained, but still without Ghino's making himself
known. But after the abbot had continued some days in that
manner, Ghino had all the goods and furniture brought into a
large room, and the horses were likewise led into the court-
yard which was under it, when he inquired how his lordship
now found himself, or whether he was yet able to ride. The
abbot made answer, that he was strong enough, and his sto-
mach perfectly well, and that he only wanted to quit this man.
Ghino then brought him into the room where all his goods were
shewing him also to the window, that he might take a view of
his horses, when he said, " My lord, you must understand it
was no evil disposition, but his being driven a poor exile
from his own house, and persecuted with many enemies, that
forced Ghino di Tacco, whom I am, to be a robber upon the
highways, and an enemy to the court of Rome. You seem
however, to be a person of honor ; as, therefore, I have cured
you of your pain in your stomach, I do not mean to treat you
as I would do another person that should fall into my hands,
that is, to take what I please, but I would have you consider
my necessity, and then give me what you will yourself. Here
is all that belongs to you ; the horses you may see out of the
window: take either part or the whole, just as you are dis-
posed, and go or stay, as is most agreeable to you." The abbot
was surprised to hear a highwayman talk in so courteous a
manner, which did not a little please him ; so, turning all

466 TENTH DAY.

his former passion and resentment into kindness and good-
will, he ran with a heart full of friendship to emhraee him:
" I protest solemnly, that to procure the friendship of such
an one as I take you to be, I would undergo more than what
you have already made me suffer. Cursed be that evil for-
tune which has thrown you into this way of life !" So taking
only a few of his most necessary things, and also of his hor-
ses, and leaving all the rest, he came back to Home. The
pope had heard of the abbot's being a prisoner, and though
he was much concerned at it, yet upon seeing him, he in-
quired what benefit he had received from the baths ? The ab-
bot replied, with a smile, " Holy father, I found a physician
much nearer, who has cured me excellently well ;" and he told
him the manner of it, which made the pope laugh heartily,
when, going on with his story, ami moved with a truly gene-
rous spirit, he requested of his holiness one favor. The pope,
imagining he would ask something else, freely consented to
grant it. Then said the abbot, " Holy father, what J mean to
require is, that you would bestow a free pardon on Ghino di
Tacco, my doctor, because of all people of worth that I ever met
with, he certainly is most to be esteemed, and the damage he
does is more the fault of fortune than himself. Change but his
condition, and give him something to live upon, according
to his rank and station, and I dare say you will have the
same opinion of him that I have." The pope, being of a no-
ble spirit, and a great encourager of merit, promised to do so,
if he was such a person as he reported, and, in the mean
time, gave letters of safe conduct for his coming thither. Upon
that, assurance. Ghino came to court, when the pope was soon
convinced of his worth, and reconciled to him, giving him
the priory of an hospital, and creating him a knight. And
there he continued as a friend and loyal servant to the holy
church, and to the abbot of Cligni, as long he lived.

THE TENTH DAY

NOVEL III.

Mithridanes envied the generosity of Nathan, and went to kill him ;
when, conversing together, without knowing him, and being in-
formed in what manner he might do it, he went to meet him in
a wood as he had directed. There he calls him to mind, is
ashamed, and becomes his friend.

The abbot's extraordinary generosity seemed next to a mir-
acle to all that heard it; when Philostratus was commanded
to spsak, who instantly said, — Great, most noble ladies, was

NOVEL III. 467

the magnificence of the King of Spain ; and that of the ab-
bot of Cligni something quite unusual ; but perhaps it will ap-
pear no less strange to you to be told how a person, as a proof
of his liberality to another, who thirsted after his blood, nay,
and his very soul too, should contrive industriously to gratify
him. And he had done so, if the other would have taken what
was so offered, as I am going to shew you.

Most certain it is, if any faith may be given to the Genoese,
and others that have been in those parts, that in the country
of Cattaio lived a person of noble extract, and rich beyond
comparison, called Nathan, who, having an estate adjoining
to the great road which led from the east to the west, andbeing
of a generous spirit, and desirous of shewing it by his good
works, summoned together many master artificers, and in a
very short time raised one of the most grand and beautiful pa-
laces that ever was seen, furnishing it with every thing neces-
sary for the more honorable reception of persons of distinc-
tion. He had also great numbers of servants, and kept open
house for all comers and goers, continuing this no! le way
of living, till not only the east but the west also resounded his
fame. Being grown into years, and his hospitality no way
abated, it happened that his renown reached the ears of a
young gentleman, named Mithridanes, living in a country not
far from the other, who, thinking himself full as wealthy as
Nathan, began to envy his fame and virtue, resolving to annul
or cloud them both by a superior generosity. So he built such
another palace as Nathan's, and was extravagantly generous
to every body. Now one day it happened, as he was all alone
in his palace-court, that a woman came in at one of the gates,
and demanded alms, which she received ; after which she
came in at a second, and was relieved a second time, and so
on for twelve times successively, and returning the thirteenth,
he said, " Good woman, you grow troublesome," but yet he
gave her. The old woman, at hearing these words, said, "The
prodigious generosity of Nathan ! O how greatly is it to be
admired ! I went in at all the thirty-two-gates which are at
his palace, as well as this, and received an alms at every one,
without being known all the time, as it seemed to me, and
here I come but thirteen, and am known and flouted!'' and so
went away without ever coming there more. Mithridanes,
imagining that this concerning Nathan was a diminution of
his own lame, grew extremely incensed, and said, "Alas!
when shall I come up to Nathan in great things, not to say
surpass him, as is my intention, when I fall short even in the
smallest matters ? Undoubtedly, it is all labour in vain, un-
less 1 dismiss him from the world, which, seeing old age in-
effectual, I must do instantly with my own hands. So ri-
sing up in a passion, without making any one acquainted with
his design ; he mounted his horse, taking very few attendants
with him, and the third day he arrived at Nathan's palace,

468 TENTH DAY.

when he ordered his people not to seem to belong to him. but
provide themselves with lodgings till tliey heard farther from
him. Coming there towards the evening, and being left by
himself, he found Nathan alone, not far from his palace, ta-
king a walk for his amusement, in a very plain habit, when he,
not knowing him, desired he would shew him the way to
Nathan's dwelling. Nathan cheerfully replied, " Son, there is
nobody in this country can shew you better than myself; then,
if you please, I will conduct you thither." The young gen-
tleman replied, " I should be extremely obliged to you ; but
could wish, it' it were possible, neither to be seen nor known
by Nathan." This also," quoth Nathan, " I will do for you,
if it be your design." So he alighted, and walked along with
him, falling agreeably into discourse together, till they came
to the palace, when Nathan bid one" of his servants take the
horse, and he whispered in the fellow's ear for him to ac-
quaint all the people in the house that none of them should
let the gentleman know he was Nathan, which was done.
Being entered into the palace, he put Mithridanes into a very
fine apartment, where nobody should see him but those whom
he had appointed to wait upon. him; and shewed him all pos-
sible respect; himself constantly keeping him company.
After Mithridanes had been for some time with him, he
asked, with a great deal of reverence, who he was. When he
replied, " i am an inferior servant of Nathan's, who has grown
old in his service, and yet he never promoted me to any thing
more than what you see me ; and, therefore, though other peo-
ple commend him, I have little reason to do so." These words
gave Mithridanes some hopes that he might the better and
more securely effect his base purpose. Nathan then inquired
very courteously of him cuncerning who he was, and the oc-
casion of his coming thither, offering him his best advice and
assistance. Mithridanes hesitated a little, upon that, but at
length resolved to let him into his design ; so, after a long
preamble requesting secrecy, and that he would lend a help-
ing- Ii and, he declared who he was, what he came thither for,
and his inducement. Nathan, hearing his detestable reso-
lution, was quite changed within himself ; nevertheless, with-
out any appearance thereof, he replied boldly, and with
a steady countenance, " Mithridanes, your father was truly a
noble person, nor are you willing to degenerate, having un-
dertaken so glorious an enterprise as is that of being liberal to
all people ; I do greatly commend the envy you bear to
Nathan's virtue, because, were there many more men of
the same principle, the world, though bad enough at pre-
sent, would soon grow better. Your affair I shall most as-
suredly keep secret, which I can further more by my ad-
vice, than any help 1 am able to give you, and that in the fol-
lowing manner : —

About half a mile from hence is a grove, where he gene-

tsdi mwmATdmjkwm^

NOVEL III. 469

rally takes a walk for a considerable time every morning ;
there you may easily meet with him, and do what you pur-
pose. If you should kill him, in order to return home with-
out any hindrance, do not go the way you came, but take a
path that leads out of the grove to the left, which, though
not so much frequented as the other, is yet a shorter way to
your house, as well as more secure." When Mithridanes
had received this instruction, and Nathan was departed,
he let his attendants, that were in the same house, know
privately where they were to wait for him the next day. And
early in the morning Nathan arose, his mind being no way
changed from the counsel given to Mithridanes, and went to
the grove with a design of meeting with his death. Mithri-
danes also took his bow and sword, having no other weapon,
and rode to the same place, where he saw Nathan walking
at a distance by himself ; and being minded before he put him
to death, to hear what he had to say, he laid hold of the turban
that was upon his head, and cried out, "Old dotard! thou
art a dead man." Nathan made no reply but this : " Then
I have deserved it." Mithridanes, hearing his voice, and
looking in his face, found it was the same person that had so
kindly received him, kept him company, and faithfully advi-
sed him : upon which his rage and malice were turned into
shame and remorse ; and throwing away his sword, which he
had ready drawn to stab him, he dismounted, and fell
with tears at his feet, saying, " My dearest father, I am now
convinced of your liberality, considering what pains you have
taken to bestow your life upon me, which I was very un-
justly desirous of having. But God, more careful of my doing
my duty than I was myself, opened the eyes of my understan-
ding, which envy had closed, at a time when there was the
greatest need of it. The more ready, therefore, you were t«
oblige me, so much the greater I acknowledge my remorse tl
be. Take that revenge, then, of me which you think adequate
to the nature of my crime." Nathan raised him up and
embraced him, saying, " Son, your design, call it wicked, or
what you will, needs neither your asking my pardon nor
yet my granting it ; because it was out of no hatred, but only
a desire to excel. Be assured, then, there is nobody regards
you more than I do, considering the greatness of your soul,
which was given you, not for the amassing of wealth, as is
the case of misers, but the distribution of it ; be not ashamed
of your design of cutting me off, to become more famous, nor
think I am at all surprised at it : the greatest monarchs by
no other art than that of killing, not one man only, as you would
have done, but infinite numbers, destroying whole countries,
and laying cities. in ruins, have enlarged their empire, and
consequently their fame, Therefore, to kill me alone, to make
yourself famous, is neither new nor strange." Mithridanes,
far from excusing his evil intent, but commending Nathan's
2s

470 TENTH DAY.

honest gloss upon it, proceeded so far as to tell him, that he
wondered exceedingly how he could bring himself to such a
readiness to die, and be even advising and aiding to it.

When Nathan replied, " I would not have you wonder
at all at it; for ever since I have been my own master, and re-
solved to do that wherein you have endeavoured to follow my
example, nobody ever came to my house, whom 1 did not
content to the utmost of my power, as to what was required
of me. Now it was your fortune to come for my life ; there-
fore, that you should not be the only person who went away
ungratified, I resolved to give it, advising you in such a man-
ner that you might be secure of it without losing your own.
Therefore I conjure you to take it, if it will be any pleasure
to you : 1 do not know how I can better bestow it. Eighty
years have I had the full enjoyment of it ; and, according to
the course of nature, and as it fares with other men, and all
other things, I can keep it but very little time longer : so I
hold it better to part with it of my own accord, as I have
done my wealth and estate, than to keep it till it is wrest-
ed from me by nature. A hundred years are no great mat-
ter : what, then, are six or eight, which are all that are left
me? Take it, then, I say again, if you please, for I never
met with any one before that desired it, nor do I expect any
other will accept it, if you do not. Besides, the longer it is
kept, of the less value it grows ; so take it once for all,
whilst it is worth something." Mithridanes was extremely
confounded and said, " God forbid, that, so far from touch-
ing a thing of the value your life is, I should even desire
it as I did just now. Instead of lessening your years, I
would willingly add of my own, if it were possible." "And
would you," he replied, "if you could ? That would be doing
to you what I have done yet to no one, I mean robbing you
to enrich myself. But I will tell you what you shall do :
you shall come and live here, and be called Nathan, and I
will go to your house and take the name ot Mithridanes."
He replied, " If I knew how to behave as well as you do, I
should readily embrace your offer ; but as I am sensible I
should only lessen the fame of Nathan, I shall never seek
to impair that in another which I cannot increase in myself:
so pray excuse me." With these and more such compli-
ments, they returned to the palace, where Nathan shewed
great respect to Mithridanes, confirming him in his great and
noble design ; who, being disposed to return home, took his
leave, fully convinced that he could never come up to Nathan
in liberality.

471

THE TENTH BAY.

NOVEL IV.

Signer Gentil de'Carisendi takes a lady out of her grave, whom
he had loved, and who was buried for dead. She recovers, and
is brought to bed of a son, which he presents aloiig ivith the
lady to her husband.

It was agreed that Nathan had outdone both the King
of Spain and the abbot of Cligni. When the king signified
his will to Lauretta that she should begin ; which she did
to this effect : —

Great, as well as beautiful, most noble ladies, are the inci-
dents which have been already related, nor does any thing
seem wanting, in my opinion to bring our argument borne
to the subject, but that we take in the affair of love, which
affords matter enough for discourse upon any question what-
ever. For this reason, then, and as it is always an agree-
able topic to youth, I shall mention the generosity of an
enamoured young gentleman.

In Bologna was a knight, of great consequence and worth,
called Gentil Carisendi, who was in love with Catalina, the
wife of Niccoluccio Caccianimico ; and meeting with no
return, he went in a kind of despair to Modena, whi-
ther he was called as Podesta. In the meantime, Nic-
coluccio being absent from Bologna, and bis lady at a country-
house about three miles distant, where she was gone to
stay, being with child, it happened she_ was taken with an
hysteric fit, which quite extinguished all signs of life, so
that her physician declared her dead. And because her ac-
quaintance said, they had been informed by her thai she was
not quick with child, she was immediately buried in a vault
belonging to a neighbouring church. This was soon signi-
fied by a friend to Signor Gentil, who, though he had never
received the least mark of her favour, grieved extremely, say-
ing at last to himself, "Behold, my dear Catalina,- you are
dead ; living you would never deign me one kind look ; now,
however, that you cannot prevent it, I will please myself
with a kiss." So, giving orders that his departure should be
a secret, towards evening he mounted his horse, and ta-
king a servant along with him, he rode directly to the vault
where she was buried, which he opened, and laying down by
her, I12 put his cheeks to hers, and wept. At length, laying

472 TENTH DAY.

his hands for some time upon her bosom he thought he felt
something beat; when, throwing all fear aside, and attending
more nicely to the circumstance, he was convinced she had a
small spark of life remaining in her; therefore, by the
help of his servant, he took her out of the vault as gently as
possible, and laying her upon the horse, he brought her pri-
vately to his house at Bologna. There his mother, a worthy
good lady, having the whole account from him, by warm baths
and otber means soon brought her to herself; when, after
fetching a deep sigh, she said, " Alas ! where am I ?" The
good lady replied, " Make yourself easy, you are in a very good
place." Looking then all round, and seeing Signor Gentil
before her, her astonishment was great, and she desired his
mother to inform her by what means she had come thi-
ther. He then related every thing to her; at which she was
concerned, and, after giving due thanks, she requested of him,
by his love, and generous deportment, to attempt nothing con-
trary to her honor and that of her husband, and that, when
it was daylight, he would suffer her to go home. " Madam,"
he replied, " whatever my love has been heretofore, I pro-
mise both now and hereafter, seeing I have been so fortunate
to bring you to life, to use you with the same regard as I
would my sister, but, as I think myself entitled to some re-
ward, I must insist upon your granting me one favor."
" Sir," said she, " you may command any thing from me con-
sistent with modesty." He made answer, " Madam, your
relations and all the people of Bologna are assured of your
being dead ; therefore I insist only upon your staying here
with my mother till I return from Modena, which will be very
soon. My reason is, that 1 would then, in the presence of the
principal inhabitants here, make a valuable and solemn pre-
sent of you to your husband." The lady,* knowing her obli-
gations to the knight, and that his demand was honorable,
consented, and gave her word to abide by it, notwithstand-
ing she longed extremely to gratify her relations with the
news of her being alive. And whilst they were talking, she
felt labour-pains come upon her, and she was soon delivered
of a son, which added greatly to their joy. Signor Gentil or-
dered that she should have the same care taken of her as if
she had been his own wife, and then returned privately to
Modena. There he continued till the expiration of his office,
and the morning he was to come home, he ordered a great en-
tertainment to be made at his house, to which Liccoluccio
Caccianimico, with many of the principal citizens, were invi-
ted : and after he had dismounted, and found the company
waiting for him, understanding too that the lady and child
were both very well, he received them all with a great deal of
joy ; and dinner was immediately served up in the most mag-
nificent manner possible. Towards the end, having concerted
everything beforehand with the lady, he addressed himself to

NOVEL IV. 473

his guests in the following manner ; " Gentlemen I remember
to have heard of a pretty custom in Persia, that when one has
a mind to shew the greatest respect in his power to any of his
friends, that he invites them to his house, and produces that
thing, he what it will, wife, mistress, or daughter, that is most
dear to him, declaring thereby that he would, if he was able,
lay his very heart before them. This custom I mean to intro-
duce at Bologna. You do me honor with your company at
this feast, and I will return it, by shewing that thing which is
the most dear to me of all that I have in the world, or ever
shall possess. But I must first beg your solution of a difficulty
which 1 am going to start to you.

A certain person had a very honest and trusty servant, who
was taken extremely ill, whom without more to do, he sent
out into the street in that condition ; when a stranger, out of
mere compassion, took him into his house, and with a great
deal of trouble and expense had him restored to his former
health. Now I would gladly know whether the first master
has any right to complain of the second, for keeping him in
his service, and refusing to restore him." This occasioned a
great deal of argument, and all agreed at last in opinion,
leaving Niccoluccio Caccianimico, who was an elegant speak-
er, to report it. He, therefore, after commending the Per-
sian custom, said, they were all persuaded that the first mas-
ter had no right, after he had not only abandoned him, but
thrown him away as it were ; and that, on account of the
kindness done to him, he justly belonged to the second, who
offered no violence or injury to the 'first in detaining him.
The rest of the company, declared that they joined in opin-
ion with Niccoluccio. When the knight, pleased with the
answer, and having it too from Niccoluccio, affirmed, that
those were his sentiments, adding, " It is now time for me to
honor you according to premise." So he sent two of his ser-
vants to the lady, whom he had taken care to be very gaily
dressed, desiring her to favor his guests with her company.
Accordingly, she came into the hall, followed by two servants,
with the little infant in her arms. And after she had seated
herself, he said, " Behold, this is what I value beyond every-
thing else ; see if you think 1 am in the right." The gentle-
men all praised her extremely, pronouncing her worthy of
his esteem : and, after looking more nicely at her, many of
them were going to have owned her, had it not been that
they thought her dead. But none viewed her so much as Nic-
coluccio, who, the knight having stepped a little aside, grew
impatient to know who she was ; and, unable any longer to
contain himself, demanded of her if she were a citizen or a
stranger. The lady, hearing this from her husband, could
scarcely refrain from giving him an answer, yet, in regard to
her i-njunctions, she held her peace. Another inquired whe-
ther that was her child ; and a third, whether she was wife, or
2 s 2

474 TENTH DAY.

any relation, to Signor Genti). Still she made no reply to
any. So when the knight returned, one of the company said,
" Sir, this is really a pretty creature, but she appears to be
dumb : is she actually so ?" " Gentlemen," he replied, " her
silence is no small argument of her virtue." " Tell us, then,"
quoth one, "who she is." " That I will," said the knight,
" with all my heart, if you will promise me in the mean time
that none of you stir from your places, till I have made an
end." This being agreed, and the tables all removed, he went
and sat down by her, saying, " Gentlemen, this lady is that
good and faithful servant of whom I proposed the question j
who, being set at nought by her friends, and thrown into the
street, as it were, for a thing of no account, was by me writh
great care taken up, and redeemed from death, and from so
terrible an object as she once was, brought to what you now
see. But, for your more perfect understanding of what has
happened, I will make it plain to you in a few words." So he
began from his being first enamoured, and related everything
particularly that had happened, to the great amazement of the
hearers ; adding, at last, " For these reasons, if you stick to
what you said just now, and Niccoluccio especially, the lady
is mine, and nobody has any right to demand her from me."
No reply was made to this, but all stood expecting to hear
what he had further to say. In the mean time, Niccoluc-
cio and the rest of the company, as well as the lady, were so
affected, that they all wept. But Signor Gentil arose, and ta-
king the child in his arms, and the lady by the hand, he
went towards Niccoluccio, and said, " Rise, my friend ; be-
hold I do not give you your wife, whom you, and her relations
had thrown away, but I bestow this lady upon you, as an ac-
quaintance of mine, along with her little son, which is yours,
and whom I have called by my own name ; and I entreat you
not to have the worse opinion of her, for having been three
months in my house ; for I call Heaven to witness, that,
though my love was the cause of her being preserved, she has
lived with the same honor in my house, along with my
mother, as she could have done with her own parent." Then,
turning to the lady, he said, " Madam, I now acquit you of
your promise, and give you freely up to your husband." So
giving him the lady and the child into his arms, he returned,
and sat down. Niccoluccio received them with the greater
joy, as it was the more unexpected, loading the knight
with infinite thanks, whilst the company, who could not re-
frain from weeping, highly commended his generosity, as did
every one also that heard it. The lady now was brought to her
own house with great demonstrations of joy, and the peo-
ple all beheld her with the same wonder as if she had been
raised from the dead. Moreover, the knight was in the great-
est esteem ever after, both with her and Niccoluccio, as well
as all their relations and friends.

475

THE TENTH DAY

NOVEL V.

Dianora requires Ansaldo to present her with a garden in January
as beautiful as in May. He engages a necromancer to do it.
Her husband, upon this, gives iter leave to keep her word with
Ansaldo; who, hearing of the husband's generosity, quits her
of her promise.

Signor Gentil was extolled to the very skies by the whole
assembly, when the king ordered Emilia to follow ; who im-
mediately began in this manner.

In the country of Frioli, which, though very cold, is yet
beautified with many pleasant mountains, fine rivers, and cry-
stal springs, is a place called Udine, where lived a worthy
lady, named Dianora, tbe wife of a very agreeable man, and
one of great wealth, called Gilberto. Now she had taken
the fancy of a great and noble lord, called Ansaldo, one of ex-
traordinary generosity and prowess, and known to all the
country ; who used frequently to solicit her with messages and
offers of love, but in vain. At length, being quite wearied
with his importunity, and seeing that he still persisted, not-
withstanding her repeated denials, she resolved to rid herself
of him by a new, and, as she thought, impossible demand.
So she said to his emissary one day, " Good woman, you have
often told me that Ansaldo loves me beyond all the world ;
could I be assured, indeed, that his love is really such as you
say, then I should certainly be brought to return it: there-
fore, if he will convince me of that by a proof which I shall re-
quire, I will instantly be at his service." " What is it, then,"
quoth the good woman, " that you desire him to do?" "It is
this," she replied: "I would have a garden in the month
of January, which is now coming on, as full of green herbs,
flowers, and trees laden with fruit, as though it were the
month of May : unless he does this for me, chai'ge him to trou-
ble me no more, for that 1 will instantly make a complaint to
my husband and all my friends."

He being acquainted with the demand, which seemed next
to an impossibility, and knowing that it was contrived on pur-
pose to deprive him of all iiopes of success, resolved yet to try

476 TENTH DAY.

all possible means in such a case, sending to every part of the
world to find out a person able to assist him ; when at length
he met with a magican, who would undertake it for a large sum
of money ; and having agreed upon a price', he waited impa-
tiently lor the time of its being done. On the first of January,
therefore, at night, the cold being extreme, and every thing
covered with snow, this wise man, in a meadow near to the
city, made one of the finest gardens spring up that ever was
seen, filled with all kinds of herbs, flowers, and fruits, which
Ansaldo saw with infinite pleasure, and picking some of the
fairest fruit and flowers, he sent them privately to the lady,
inviting her to come and see the garden which she had recpii-
red, in order to be convinced of his love, and that she might
call to mind the promise she had made. The lady, viewing the
present, and hearing also from many people of this wonderful
garden, began to repent of what she had done. But with all this
repentance, being still desirous of seeing strange sights, she
went thither with many more ladies, and having highly com-
mended it, returned home sorrowful enough, thinking of her
engagement. She continued so very uneasy, that her hus-
band at last perceived it, and demanded the reason. For
some time she was ashamed to speak, but being constrain-
ed at last, she related the whole thing. Gilberto was greatly
disturbed about it, till, considering the upright intention of
his lady in the affair, he began to be something pacified, and
said, " You were highly to blame first to listen, and afterwards
to covenant: but, as I know the purity of your intention, and
to free you from your engagement, I will grant what nobody else
would do in such a case. For fear of this necromancer, who,
by Ansaldo*s instigation, may do us some mischief if you dis-
appoint him, I consent that you go to Ansaldo, and if
you can by any means get quit of that tie with safety to your
honor, that you endeavour to do it, otherwise that you com-
ply, in deed, though your will be chaste and pure." She
wept, and shewed great reluctance, but he insisted upon
it. So, early in the morning, without any great care to make
herself fine, she went witli her woman and two men-servants
to Ansaldo's house, who, hearing the lady was there, arose
with great surprise, and called the wise man, saying to him,
" You shall now see the effect of your skill." So he went to
meet her, and shewed her into a handsome room, where there
Was a great fire, and sitting down together, he said, " Mad-
am, I beg, if the long regard i have had for you merit any re-
ward, that you would please to tell me why you come here at
this time, and with this company." She blushed, and replied,
with tears, " Sir, it was neither love, nor yet regard to my
promise, but merely my husband's order, who, shewing more
respect to the labours of your inordinate love than his ho-
nor and mine, has forced me to come hither; therefore, as it is
commanded, I submit to your pleasure." If Ansaldo was

NOVEL VI. 477

surprised at the sight of the lady, he was now much more so
at hearing her talk ; and, being moved with Gilberto's gene-
rosity, his love was changed into compassion, and he said,
" Madam, Heaven forbid that T should ever take away the
honor of a person who has shewed such pity for my love :
therefore, you are safe with me, as if you were my sister, and
when it seems good to you, you may depart, upon condition
that ycu tender your husband in my name, those thanks
which you think are due to his great generosity, requesting
him, for the time to come, to esteem me always as his brother
and faithful servant." The lady, overjoyed with this, replied,
" All the world, Sir, could never make me believe, when I
consider your character, that any thing could have happened
on my coming hither, otherwise than now it has done ; for
which I shall always be obliged to you." So she took her
leave, and returned to her husband, when, relating what had
happened, it proved the occasion of a strict friendship ever
after between him and Ansaldo.

THE TENTH DAY.

NOVEL VI.

Old King Charles, surnamed the Victorious, being in love with a
young lady, and ashamed afterwards of his folly, marries both
her and her sister much to their advantage.

Disputes arose amongst the company, whether Gilberto's ge-
nerosity, or Ansaldo's was the greatest. But the king order-
ed Flammetta to put an end to the debate ; who began to this
effect : —

You must all have heard of King Charles the Ancient, or the
First, by whose glorious enterprise and great victory obtain-
ed over King Manfredi, the Ghibelline faction was driven out
of Florence, and the Guelphs restored. On which account a
certain knight, called Neri de gli Uberti, departed with
his whole family and a great store of wealth, meaning to live
under the protection of no other king; and 'choosing a
solitary place, with a design to end his days in quiet, he
went to Castello da Mare, where he purchased a little estate,
and built a small convenient house upon it, by the side of
which was a most delightful garden; and attending only
to the care of his garden, it happened that King Charles
came during the summer to amuse himself at Castello da
Mare for a few days : when, hearing of Neri's fine garden,
he had a great desire to see it ; and, considering he was of the

478 TENTH DAY.

adverse party, he resolved to use the more familiarity towards
him; so he sent him word, that he and four friends should
come and sup with him the next evening in his garden.
This was an agreeable message to Signor Neri, who made
the necessary provision for his entertainment, receiving him
afterwards in the best manner he was able. The king high-
ly commended both the houses and garden ; and the table
being spread he sat down, ordering Count Guido di Monforte,
who was amongst his attendants, to sit on one side, and Sig-
nor Neri on the other ; supper now was served up in the most
delicate order, with the best and richest wine, greatly to the
king's liking ; and whilst he was eating, with great admiration
of the beauty of the place, two young damsels, of about fifteen
years of age, entered the garden, with their hair like golden
wire, most curiously curled, and garlands of flowers upons
their heads, whilst their mien and deportment bespoke them
rather angels than mortal creatures : their garments were of
fine linen cloth, as white as snow, which were girt round
their waists, and hung in large folds from thence to their feet.
The king, with the count and gentlemen that attended, were
much taken with their extraordinary beauty and modest be-
haviour : the king especially, who was perfectly lost in admira-
tion, and finding a secret passion stealing upon him, without
knowing which to prefer, they were so exactly alike, he turned
to Signor Neri, and asked who those two damsels were ? When
he replied, " My lord, they are my daughters, born at a birth,
one of whom is called Gineura, the pretty, and the other Isotto,
the fair." The king commended them very much, and advised
him to marry them ; but he excused himself, alleging that he
was not in circumstances to do it. Nothing now remained to
be served up but the dessert, when the two ladies retmng to
some distance, sang a song, beginning in the following manner,

Thy power, O love ! who can fasist ? §c.
with such exquisite sweetness, that it seemed to the king as
if choirs of angels were descended from heaven for his enter-
tainment. No sooner was the song ended, but they fell upon
their knees before him, to take their leave, which the king,
though he was secretly grieved at it, seemed graciously to
comply with. When supper was -concluded, the king, with
his attendants, mounted their horses, and returned to the
palace, where, being unable to forego the love that he had
conceived for Gineura, for whose sake he also loved her sis-
ter, as resembling each other, he grew so uneasy that he could
think of nothing else; upon which account lie cultivated,
under other pretences, a strict friendship with the lather, and
used frequently to visit him at his garden, in order to see Gin-
eura ; till unable to contain any longer, seeing he could
think of no better way, he resolved to take not one only, but
both from him by force, and he signified his intention to
Count Guido, who, being a nobleman of strict honor, said to

NOVEL VII. 479

this effect : " My liege, I am greatly surprised at what you
now say, and more perhaps than any other person would be,
since I have known you more, even from your infancy, and
as I never remember any such thing of you in your youth,
when love has the greatest power over us, it seems so odd,
and out of the way, that I can scarcely give credit to it. It
was great glory to conquer Manfredi, but, let me tell you, it
will be much greater to conquer yourself. You, there-
fore, who are ordained to correct vice in others, learn to
subdue your own ; curb that unruly appetite, nor stain with
so foul a blot the character you have so gloriously acquired."
These words touched the king to the quick, and so much
the more as he knew them to be true : therefore he sighed,
and said, " Count, I hold it an easy conquest over any enemy,
however formidable, compared to one's own passion ; but, be
the difficulty ever so great, such is the force of your words,
that before many days are past I will convince you, if I know
how to conquer others that I am able also to withstand my-
self." So he went to Naples soon after, when, to put it out
of his power to do a base thing, as well as to reward the
knight for the favors shewn him, he resolved, however gra-
ting it seemed, to give another the possession of that which
he himself coveted, to marry both the ladies, not as Signor
Neri's daughters, but his own. Bestowing, then, large for-
tunes upon them, Gineura, the pretty, he gave to Signor Maf-
feo da Palizzi ; and Isotto, the fair, to Signor Gulielmo della
Magna, both worthy knights, retiring himself afterwards to
Puglia ; where, with great pains and trouble, he got the
better at last of his passion, and lived with ease and quiet
ever after.

THE TENTH DAY

NOVEL VII.

King Pietro, knowing that a lady was love-sick for him, makes
\ her a visit, and marries her to a ivorthy gentleman ; then, kiss-
ing her forehead, calls himself ever afterwards her knight.

Flammetta's novel was concluded, when Pampinea, having
the king's command, began as follows : —

There dwelt at Palermo, a Florentine apothecary, called Ber-
nardo Puccini, one of very great substance, and who had an
only daughter, a fine young lady, and of age to be married.
Now King Pietro, becoming lord of the whole island, made a
great feast for all his barpns at Palermo : it chanced that Ber-
nardo's daughter, whose name was Lisa, observing him, gazed

480 TENTH DAY.

so long that she became deeply in love. But what troubled her
most was the consideration other mean rank, nevertheless, she
would by no means withdraw her affection, at the same time that
she was afraid to disclose it. Love thus getting every day more
power over her, the fair maid, unable to hold up any longer, fell
at last into a languishing sickness. The father and mother, by
their own continual care, as well as the help of physicians did
all in their power to relieve her, but to no purpose; now one
day it happened, that a thought came into her head, to make
her love known to the king before her death, and she desired
that Minuccio d' Arezzo might come to her. This Minuccio
was a fine singer, and often with the king. The father, there-
fore, sent for him ; when he came, and played a tune or two
upon his violin, and sang her several songs, which, instead of
appeasing, only added to her love. At length she expressed
a desire to speak to him in private ; so every one else
having left the room, she spoke to this purpose : " Minuc-
cio, I have chosen to entrust you with a secret, hoping, in the
first place, that you will only reveal it to the person concerned ;
and, secondly, I desire you would assist me to the utmost of
your power. The case, you must know, is this : the day of
King Pietro's rejoicing for his accession, I fell so much in
love on seeing him run his tilts, that it has brought me to
what you see. Knowing, therefore, how ill-placed my love is
on a king, and not being able to shake it off, or any way im-
pair it, I have resolved, to die. It is true, I shall die with
great uneasiness, unless he knows it first ; and as 1 have no-
body that I can trust in this affair but yourself, I hope that you
will not refuse me this service ; and when you have done, to let
me know it, that so, being disburdened I may die with more
ease." Minuccio being grieved for her, thought of a way where-
by he might fairly do her service ; so he said, " Madam, be
assured, I will give you my best assistance, .hoping that, before
three days are expired, I shall bring you news that will be
agreeable." She promised to comfort herself as well as she
could, and wished him success. He consequently went to one
Mico da Siena, a tolerable poet in those days who, at his re-
quest, composed the following song.

CHORUS.

Go, love, and to my lord declare
The torment which for him I feel;

Go, say I die, whilst still my fear
Forbids me to declare my mind.

With hands uplifted, I thee pray,
O love ! that thou wouldst haste away,
, And gently to my lord impart

The wannest wishes of my heart;
Declare how great my sorrows seem,
Which sighing, blushing, I endure for him.
Go, love, &c.

NOVEL VII. 481

Why was I not so bold to tell,
For once, the passion that I feel?
To him for whom I grieve alone,
The anguish of my heart make known ?
He might rejoice to hear my grief
Awaits his single pleasure for relief.

Go, love, &c.

But if this my request be vain,
Nor other means of help remain,
Yet say, that when in armour bright
He march'd, as if equipped for fight,
Amidst his chiefs, that fatal day,
I saw, and gaz'd my very heart away.
Go, love, &c.

These words he set to a soft languishing air, and the third
day he went to court, where the king was at dinner ; and
being ordered to sing, he began in such an easy, sweet man-
ner, that all the people in the room seemed converted to sta-
tues ; so silently, so attentively did they listen. But the
king was more affected than all the rest, and demanded
why he had never heard that song before?" "My lord," the
other replied, " the words and tune both are not yet three
days old." The king then inquiring whom it was they con-
cerned, he made answer, " That I can only tell your majesty."
The king being desirous of knowing it, went with him into
the chamber, when Minuccio related the whole affair ;
with which the king seemed greatly pleased, and desired him
to go directly to her, and assure her, on his part, that he would
certainly visit her that evening. Minuccio, overjoyed to be the
bearer of such news, went immediately and after relating to
her in private what had been done, he sung her the very song.
From that time there appeared great signs of amendment.
The king, having thought much of what Minuccio told him,
felt more and more pity for the lady. So, getting on horseback
in the evening, as if he were taking a ride, he rode to this
apothecary's house, desiring to see a fine garden that he
had ; where, after walking for some time together, the king
inquired what was become of his daughter, and whether she
was yet married 1 Bernardo replied, "My lord, she is not
married; she has been extremely ill, and is still so, though
we think, since nine o'clook, that she is wonderfully mended."
The king knew what that amendment meant, and said, " In
good truth it would be a pity to lose such a pretty young lady ;
let us go and see her." So he went with two attendants only, and
the father, into the chamber : and going to the bed-side, where
she sat raised up, and taking her by the hand he said, " Fair
maid. You are young, and should be a delight to others;
for my sake be comforted, and get well." The lady, feeling the
touch" of his hand, whom she loved beyond all the world, though

2 T

482 TENTH DAY.

she could not help blushing, thought herself in perfect para-
dise, and answered as well as she could: " My lord, by oppo-
sing- my little strength to too heavy a burden, I have to lan-
guish in this manner; but you will soon see an amendment."
Only the king knew her covert way of speaking, and after he
had encouraged her as much as possible, he took his leave.
By this condescension of the king, and being assisted by bet-
ter hopes, she became in a little time quite well, and more fair
tban ever. Some time after, the king, went on horseback, at-
tended by many of his barons, to the apothecary's house, and
walking in the garden, he sent for him and his daughter,
when he said, " Fair lady, your love for me has obtained you
this favor, with which, for my sake, I beg you would be satis-
fied ; what I mean is, to give you a husband, but still I would
preserve the character of your knigbt, without requesting any
thing in return but a kiss." She blushed, and replied, "My
lord, were it to be publicly known that 1 had fixed my affec-
tion upon your majesty, I doubt not but I should be reckoned
the greatest of fools. But God, who knows my heart, is my
judge, that I then thought of you as a great king, and of my-
self as an apothecary's daughter, your majesty knows, as well
as myself, there is no choice in love. But for you, who are my
king, to be called my knight, that it becomes me not to speak
to, any more than the kiss which you require as the sole recom-
pence of my love, without leave from our lady the queen."
Here she was silent. The king was pleased with the lady's
reply ; and instantly called for her father and mother, and
finding they approved of his intention, he sent for a young
gentleman of small fortune, whose name was Perdicone, and
caused him, not unwillingly, to espouse her ; when, besides
many jewels and other valuable presents, he bestowed Ceffalu
and Calatabelotta, two very considerable estates, upon them,
saying, " These I give by way of dowry with your wife."
Then, turning to her, he said, " I must now receive the fruit
that is due to me from your love ;" and he just saluted her
forehead. So the marriage was solemnized with great joy,
and the king always styled himself her knight, and never carried
any other token of favor upon his arms, but what she sent him.

483

THE TENTH DAY.

NOVEL VIII.

Sophronia, believing herself to be the wife of Gisippus, is really
married to Titus Quintus Fulvius, who carries her to Rome ;
where Gisippus arrives some time after in great distress, and,
thinking himself despised by Titus, confesses himself guilty of
a murder, in order to put an end to his life. Titus recollects
him, and to save him, accuses himself ; which, when the mur-
derer sees, he delivers himself up as the guilty person. On
which account they are all set at liberty by Octavius, and Titus
marries Gisippus to his sister, and gives him half his estate.

Philomena now, by the king's order, (Pampinea having"
ceased to speak, and King Pietro being much commended by
the vvbole company,) began in this manner :

At the time when Octavius Cesar (afterwards Augustus) go-
verned the empire as oneof the triumvirate, there dwelt at Rome
a o-entleman called Publius Quintus Fulvius, who having a son
named Titus Quintus Fulvius, a youth of wonderful parts and
learning, sent him to Athens to study philosophy ; recom-
mending him to a nobleman there, called Chremes, who was
his old friend. This noble person kept him in his own house,
as a companion to a son of his own, named Gisippus, and they
were both put under the tuition of a philosopher, whose name
was Aristippus. Being brought up thus together,' their ways
and tempers were so conformable, that a brotherly affection
and strict friendship sprung up between them. Thus they
went on for three years, to the great joy of Chremes, who seem-
ed to have the same regard for both ; when it chanced that he
died, being stricken in years, at which they expressed a like
concern: nor could it be well said which was most disconso-
late. In a few months afterwards, the friends and relations
of Gisippus came to see him, and, along with Titus, began to
comfort and persuade him to take a wife, recommending a citi-
zen of theirs, a lady of extraordinary beauty and family, about
sixteen years of age. The time of their marriage drawing near,
Gisippus prevailed upon Titus, who had not yet seen her, to
go with him to pay her a visit. Coming then to the house, and
she seating herself between them, Titus, considering the charms
of his friend's contracted spouse, began to view her with the
greater attention ; and he soon grew as much enamoured as ever
man in the world was with a woman, without however shewing
the least sign of it. After they had returned home, Titus, going
into his chamber by himself, began to reflect upon what he had
seen, and the more he thought, the more he grew in love. Re-

484 TENTH DAY.

collecting himself at last, after many passionate sighs, hebroke
out to this effect: " Ah ! unhappy Titus, where and on whom
hast thou fixed thy heart, thou oughtest to reverence her as a
sister? Why suffer thyself to be thus ensnared ? What, then,
wilt thou do ? To act reasonably, thou must quit this love."

Then, calling to mind the lady, he said, "The laws of love
are of greater force than any other ; they disannul those of
friendship, or even the laws divine. It is only fortune that is
in fault, in having bestowed her upon him ; and perhaps he
may be less uneasy at my admiring her, than he would be with
any other person."

Thus he kept reasoning with himself, till at last he was
forced to keep his bed. Gisippus had observed him pensive
for some time, and now seeing Mm fall sick, sought, by all
manner of means, to comfort him, pressing earnestly to know
the cause of his grief. Titus, compelled, as it were, at length ,
to speak, began with sighs and tears.

Here he related from the beginning the whole cause of his
uneasiness and conflict within himself ; owning his extreme
passion for Sophronia, and declaring, on account of the dis-
honorableness of it, his resolution to die, which he hoped
would shortly come to pass. Gisippus, hearing this discourse,
and seeing his affliction, stood some time in suspense, having a
love for the lady, though in a more moderate degree: l>ut at
length his friend's life was preferred, and, sympathising with
him, he wept, and said, "Titus, were it not that yow stand more
in need of comfort, I should upbraid you for a breach of friend-
ship, in keeping your passion so long a secret. That you are
so passionately in love with Sophronia, who is affianced tome,
I am not at all surprised, considering her extraordinary beau-
ty. I do not remember, since the commencement of our friend-
ship, that I ever possessed anything but it was as much yours
as my own ; and if it was so in every other case, it shall be
the same in this. Be assured that she shall be conducted in-
to my chamber, not as my wife, but yours. Then leave these
despairing thoughts, resume your former health and cheerful
temper, and from this hour expect the reward and completion
of your love, far more deserving of the lady than mine."

Titus, unable to refrain from tears, thus feebly replied : " Gi-
sippus, your sincere and generous friendship points out to me
what on my part ought to be done. Accept thankfully, thy own
choice and her gift, and leave me to waste away in tears as
unworthy of such a blessing ; for either I shall get the better of
this passion and so continue your friend, or else it will get the
better of me, and 1 shall then be out of my misery." Gisip-
pus replied, " My dear friend, if our intimacy might permit me
to force you in any respect to comply with my will, it is in this
case that 1 would make use of such influence; if, then, you
refuse to condescend to my entreaties, I shall, with that com-
pulsion which is necessary for my friend's welfare, take care

NOVEL VIII. 485

that Sophronia be wholly yours. There is no such generosity
in this ; women are easier found than friends ; another wife I
can easily procure, but such a friend, perhaps, never."

Although Titus was ashamed to give his consent, yet love,
and his friend's importunities, at length prevailed, and lie
replied, " Gisippus, in doing what you entreat, and say is so
much your desire, I know not whether I may be supposed
principally to consult your pleasure, or my own. As, there-
fore, your liberality is such that it surmounts all shame" in me,
I wjH do as you command. But remember, it is not being
gratified in my love only, however great that may be ; but ic is
receiving my life also at your hands." After this, Gisippus said
to him, " Titus, in order that wa succeed in this affair, I hold
it best to take this method : you know every thing is conclu-
ded between her friends and mine, and were I now to declare my
refusal of her, it would be a matter of great reproach, and I
should for ever disoblige both her relations and mine, I am
afraid, in such case, lest they should bestow her upon some
other person, and so you lose what I gain not. If you think
well of it, then, I intend to bring her home as my own spouse,
when you shall .privately be put to bed to her, as if she was
your wife, and at a proper time the thing shall be made public;
if they approve of it, it will be well ; if otherwise, it will be
done, and cannot then be undone, for which reason they must
be satisfied." Titus liked this stratagem, and as soon as he was
perfectly recovered, Gisippus brought her home with great re-
joicings, when the women put her into his bed, and departed.
Now Titus's chamber adjoined to Gisippus's so that a person
might go out of one into the other; Gisippus, therefore, hav-
ing put out the candles, went silently to Titus, and told him,
that he might now go to bed to his lady. Upon whichTitus
was so overcome with shame, that he began to repent, and
refused it. But Gisippus, who was as much his friend as he
had always professed himself, after a long contest, sent him to
her. When being in bed, he softly asked if she was willing
to be his wife. She, thinking it was Gisippus, replied, "Yes."
Then taking a ring of value, and putting it upon her finger,
he said, " And I will be your husband." Thus every thing was
consummated, she thinking all the time that she had been with
Gisippus. By this time Publius, the father of Titus, departed
this life, when letters came to Titus, requiring him instantly
to depart for Rome upon his private affairs ; which he resolved
upon, designing also to take with him Sophronia and Gisippus.
But not seeing how this could be well managed, without his
first making a full discovery of what had been done, he there-
fore one day called her into the chamber, and told her the
whole affair, which he made clear to. her by many remarkable
circumstances. Upon which she burst into tears, com-
plaining bitterly of Gisippus's trick upon her; she went di-
rectly to her father's and declared to him and her mother the

9 t 0

486 TENTH DAY.

whole treachery, affirming that she was not the wife of Gisip-
pus, as they imagined, hut of Titus. This was a most grievous
thing both to them and all herrelations, who complained heavily
of Gisippus, and there was much disturbance and confusion
about it. Titus beheld all this with great concern, and know
ing it to be the temper of the Greeks to make a mighty noise
and stir when no opposition is made, but where there is any
resistance, then to be tame and submissive, he resolved to
bear their reproaches no longer without a reply ; and having
an Attic genius, with a true Roman spirit, he had all Gisippus's
and Sophronia's friends summoned together into a temple ; and
coining thither, accompanied only by Gisippus, be addressed
himself to the expecting multitude in the following manner:

" It is the opinon of many philosophers, that we mortals
do nothing but what is pre-ordained by the immortal gods,
from whence some conclude that our actions are determined by
a fatal necessity, though others refer that necessity to things
already past. Whoever has regard to either, of these tenets,
must allow, that to find fault with what cannot be revoked, is,
in other terms, to quarrel with Providence, whom we should
believe to govern by perpetual laws, not subject to error, both
us and all our affairs ; and yet you yourselves are the people
that_presume to do this, if it be true that I hear, that you are
continually exclaiming against my marriage with Sophronia,
whom you had given to Gisippus ; never considering that it
was decreed from the beginning that she should not be his wife,
but mine, as the effect now proves. However, as discours-
ing upon the secrets of Providence is too knotty and intri-
cate a subject, for most people to comprehend, I am wil-
ling to suppose that no regard is had to what is done here be-
low, and shall confine myself altogether to the dictates of
human reason. Speaking, therefore, in that manner, I am
forced to\lo two things contrary to my natural temper ; to com-
mend myself, and to blame or lessen other people. But as
I shall keep strictly to the truth inj both respects, and the
nature of the case requires me to do both, I therefore proceed.
Your complaints arise more from rage than reason ; you are
continually reviling Gisippus, because he generously parted
with a lady whom you designed to be his wife. This action,
nevertheless, deserves the highest commendation, and that
tor two reasons. First, because he has thereby performed a
most noble act of friendship ; and, secondly, he has acted
more wisely than yourselves would have done. How far
the sacred bonds of friendship oblige one friend to go for ano-
other, I shall not at present examine, but content myself bare-
ly with reminding you, that they are much stronger than the
ties of blood. — Our friends are our own choice, but our rela-
tions we receive from the hands of fortune. If, therefore,
Gisippus, who is my friend, valued my life beyond your fa-
vor, you need not be surprised. But secondly I will shew

NOVEL VIII. 4S7

by divers instances, seeing that you know little of Providence,
and much less of the effects of friendship, that he has proved
himself wiser than you all. You gave Sophronia to him,
being a young gentleman and a philosopher ; he bestowed her
on a young gentleman and a philosopher also. You gave her
to an Athenian ; he conferred her upon a Roman. You
gave her to one of a good family ; he to a person of a better.
You to one that was rich ; he to another much richer. You
to one who but little esteemed, and scarcely knew her ; he
to one that loved her as his own life. We are of equal years, and
our studies have been the same ; he, indeed, is an Athe-
nian, and I a Roman, but no one can pretend to put those two
cities in competition. Rome is an independent, free city ;
Athens, a tributary one. Rome is mistress of the whole world;
whilst Athens is under her subjection. Rome is justly fa-
med for arms, extent of empire, and all sorts of polite learn-
ing; whilst Athens is only remarkable for a little philosophy.
And though you see me here a scholar, and of no great ac-
count, yet I am not descended from the dregs of the people.
My houses and the public places are filled with the statues of
my ancestors, and our annals record the numberless triumphs
of the Quintii brought home by them into the Roman Cap-
ital. Nor has time itself tarnished our glory, but the lustre
of our house continues the same as ever. 1 say nothing of
my wealth, out of mere shame, remembering that a virtuous
poverty was the noblest patrimony of the ancient Romans ;
but if you be of a different opinion, and think with the igno-
rant multitude there is any real excellence in riches, 1 can
then tell you that 1 am abundantly provided, not from my
own covetous desires, but the gift of fortune. I know very
well that you desired his alliance, as he is of your own city
but why should not 1 be so much esteemed by you at Rome
considering that you will then have a faithful friend and ad-
vocate in all your affairs, both public and private ? Upon all
thess accounts I must conclude that Gisippus, has judged
more wisely than yourselves. Sophronia is married to a noble
and wealthy citizen of Rome, one of an ancient family, and a
friend of Gisippus ; therefore, whoever makes any complaint or
stir about it, neither does as he ought, nor yet knowrs what
he does. But some, perhaps, may say, ' We do not so much
blame the thing, as the manner in which it was done, she
being made his wife, as it were, by stealth.' Why, this is
no such strange matter ! How many examples are there of this
kind in the world ? Do not daughters marry without their
parents' consent ? Some go into foreign countries with their
their gallants, and others never discover their marriages at all,
till their appearance or laying in does it for them. Now there
is nothing like this in Sophronia's case; she was decently
and honorably disposed of by Gisippus- to me. Others may
allege, that she was married to a person for whom she was

488 TENTH DAY.

never designed ; but those complaints are now very foolish,
and to no purpose. Fortune makes use of strange methods
sometimes to bring things to pass. What is it to me, whether
it be a cobbler or a philosopher that does any business of
mine, or whether it be in public or private, provided the end
be good ? Indeed, if I find the cobbler indiscreet in his man-
agement, he shall have no more to do for me, but still I am
obliged to thank him when he does me any real service. Gisip-
pus has married Sophronia well ; then to what purpose is it
how he did it 1 If you question his prudence, let him have no
more of your daughters to dispose of ; but still thank him for
providing so well for this. I never meant to throw a stain upon
your family, in the person of Sophronia ; and thougn I mar-
ried her in that manner, I neither came as a ravisher, nor one
refusing your alliance ; I was charmed with her beauty and
virtue ; and fearing if I proceeded in the usual way, that you
would never give your consent, on account of my taking her
away to Rome ; I therefore had recourse to this artifice, and
made Gisippus espouse her for me. Moreover, though I love
her most immoderately, yet, to shew that my designs were
strictly honorable, I first espoused her with my own ring,
as she can bear me witness, asking her whether she was will-
ing to take me for her husband, when she made answer
that she was ; if she was deceived, she herself is to blame for
not asking me who I was. This, then, is the mighty crime
committed by him as a friend, and me as a lover : for this
you lay snares for, and threaten his life. What could you
do more, had he given her to the veriest scoundrel in the uni-
verse ? But letting this alone for the present, the time is now
come, on account of my father's unexpected death, for my re-
turning to Rome ; and, intending to take Sophronia along with
me, I have thought it proper to declare what might otherwise
have been kept secret ; if you be wise, you will take it in
good part; for were I capable of such an action, I might basely
have left her. But Heaven forbid that such a thought should
ever enter the breast of a Roman ! Sophronia, therefore, is
mine, by the will of Heaven, the laws of men, the generosity
of my friend, and the innocent artifice wherewith love inspired
me : whilst you, thinking yourselves wiser than other people,
or even the gods themselves, contest this my title two ways,
both very injurious to me : first, by detaining Sophronia, over
whom youhave no more power than what I please to give you ;
and, secondly, by your ill treatment of my friend, to whom
yourselves are greatly obliged. How indiscreet you are in
both cases I shall not say at present ; but only advise you.
amicably to give up your resentment, and deliver Sophronia to
me, that I may depart your friend, and continue so ; assuring
you, whether you be pleased or otherwise with what is done,
that, if you offer to proceed in a different manner, I will then
take Gisippus along with me, and when I come to Rome

NOVEL VI11. 4S9

fetch her, who is mine, by right, in spite of you all, from
amongst you, making you sensible, at the same time, what it
is to incur the just displeasure of the Romans."

After Titus had done speaking, he took Gisippus by the
hand, and went out with him, knitting his brows, and shewing
all the marks of passion at those within the temple ; whilst
they, moved partly with the reasons he had given, and partly
terrified with hisv last words, thought it better to admit him
as a relation, since Gisippus had refused it, than to lose the
alliance of one, and procure the enmity of the ether. So they
went with one accord, and told him, that they consented* he
should have Sophronia, and should esteem him as their kins-
man, and Gisippus as their friend. Thus they made a solemn
agreement together, and departed, delivering Sophronia up
to him; she immediately went with them to Rome, where she
was received with great honor and respect. *

Gisippus continued at Athens in little esteem with the peo-
ple ; and powerful parties were formed against him, inso-
much that he was at length driven from thevplace, and doom-
ed, with all his family, to perpetual banishment. Being thus
destitute of all his friends, and no better than a common beg-
gar, he travelled, as well as he could, for Rome, to see if Ti-
tus, would take any notice of him. When, finding that he
was alive, and in great favor with the people, he inquired
for his house, and went thither, waiting till he should come
past. Not daring to speak a word, on account of his
poverty, he yet put himself in his way, in hopes that he would
recollect and challenge him ; but he passed by, and Gisippus
imagining that he had seen and despised him, and calling,
to mind what he had formerly done for him, he went away
confounded with grief and despair. It was now night, and he
had been fasting all that day, and being without a penny of
money in his pocket, and desiring nothing so much as to die,
he rambled, without knowing whither, till he came to a soli-
tary part of the city, where he found a great cavern, and went
into it, with a design of staying all night, when laying himself
down, almost naked, upon the hard ground, he wept himself
asleep. To this place two thieves, who had been robbing all
night, came with their booty towards break of day, and quar-
relling together about it, one killed the other, and departed.
This Gisippus perceiving, and thinking he had now found a
way to die, without laying hands upon himself, he stayed there
till the officers, who had notice of the murder, came and hur-
ried him violently away. Upon examination, he confessed
that he had committed the fact, and had not the power after-
wards to stir from the place.

On this, Marcus Varro, who was the praetor, gave sentence
that he should be crucified, as was the usual manner of death
in those cases. Now it happened, by great chance, that Titus
came into the hall at the very time, and looking attentively in

490 TENTH DAY.

the prisoner's face, and hearing the cause of his condemnation
he instantly knew him to be Gisippus. He wondered, there-
fore, greatly at this change of fortune, and what could bring
him thither ; and was determined, at all events, to save him ;
but seeing no other way, but by accusing himself, he stepped
resolutely forwards, and called aloud to the prsetor in this
manner: "Marcus Varro, recal thy sentence ; for the person
whom thou hast condemned, is innocent : it was I who of-
fended the gods, by the murder of that man whom the offi-
cers found slain this morning." Varro ,was quite astonish-
ed, and grieved to that degree, that the whole hall heard
him ; but not being able, with regard to his own honor, to
alter the course of the laws, he ordered Gisippus to come
back, when he said, in the presence, of Titus, " How couldst
thou be so foolish to confess, without any torture, a crime
whereof thou art no way guilty, and which would affect thy
life? Thou saidst that thou wert the; person that slew the
man, and now here is another come, who says it was not thou,
but he, that did it."

Gisippus lifted up his eyes, and saw that it was Titus, when
concluding that this was done out of a grateful remembrance
of the favors he had received, he fell into tears, and said,
" Indeed, Sir, I did murder him, and Titus's regard for my
safety comes now too late." Titus, on the other part, said,
'" Marcus Varro, take notice, this man is a stranger, and was
found, without any arms, by the man's side that was murder-
ed ; it is only his poverty that makes him desirous of dying ;
then set him at liberty, and punish me, who have deserved it."
Varro was greatly astonished at the pressing instances of both,
presuming that neither one nor the other was guilty ; and
as he was thinking of a method how they might both be ac-
quitted, behold, a young fellow, named Publius Ambustus,
one of a notorious character, and who had actually done the
thing, "' had the ^humanity, seeing each accusing himself, to
come before, the praetor and say, "Sir, the Fates have forc-
ed me hither, to solve this difficulty. Know, therefore, that
neither of these people was any way accessary, who are im-
peaching themselves : I murdered the man early this morn-
ing. Set them both, then, at liberty, and let me suffer what
the laws require."

This affair was soon told to Octavius Cesar, who, had all
three brought before him, when each related fully how the
thing really was. Upon which he set the two friends at lib-
erty, because they were innocent, and pardoned the third al-
so for their sakes. Titus then took his friend Gisippus,
and, after reproving him for his distrust and cool credence of
his friendship, brought him to his own house, when Sophro-
nia received him with the same affection as if he had been her
brother; he afterwards divided his whole substance with
him, and bestowed a sister of his, named Fulvia an agree-

NOVEL IX. 491

able young lady, upon him in marriage. Gisippus moved
partly by his exile, and partly by his love and friendship for
Titus, agreed to stay at Rome, where they all lived together
in one house, he with his Fulvia, and Titus with his fair So-
phronia, to their mutual satisfaction, every day adding some-
thing, if possible, to their felicity.

THE TENTH DAY,

NOVEL IX.

Saladin, disguised as a merchant, is generously entertained by
Signor Torello ; who, going upon an expedition to the Holy
Land, allowed his wife in a certain time to marry again. He is
taken prisoner, and being employed to look after the hawks, is
known to the Soldan, who shews him great respect, and causes
him to be conveyed by magic art, in one night, to Pavia, at the
very time that his wife was to have been married : when he makes
himself known to her, arid returns with her home.

Philomena had now concluded her story, and Titus's
gratitude was much applauded,, when the king began in this
manner : —

In the reign of Emperor Frederick the First, a general
crusade was undertaken by all the Christian princes, for the
recovery of the Holy Land ; which design of theirs coming to
the ears of Saladin, the soldan of Babylon, he resolved to go
in person to see what preparations were making against him.
So, taking with him two of his most sage and principal nobles,
and three servants only, he set forwards in the habit of a mer-
chant : after travelling through Lombardv, it happened, to-
wards the evening, that, between Pavia and Milan, he met
with a gentleman, named Torello d'Istria: Torello. upon
seeing them, supposed that they were strangers of some
quality, and as such was desirous of shewing them respect.
Therefore, Saladin having asked how far, it was to Pavia,
" Gentlemen," said Torello, it is impossible for you to reach
Pavia now before the gates are shut." "Then," quoth Sal-
adin, B please to inform us, where we may meet with the best
entertainment." Torello replied, " my servant shall go with
you, and bring you to a place where you will be accomodated
well enough." So, taking one of the most discreet of his
men aside,° and having told him what he should do, he sent
him along with them, "whilst he made the best of his way to
his own house, where he had an elegant supper provided for
them, and the tables all spread in the garden ; as soon as the
servantshad brought them to his master's house, Torello said

492 TENTH DAY.

"Gentlemen, you are welcome." Saladin, returned his com-
pliment, and said, " If it were possible for one person to
complain of another's courtesy, we should have cause to
blame yours, which, compelled us, without deserving your
notice otherwise than by a casual salutation, to accept of
such great favors as these." Torello replied, "Gentlemen,
it is poor respect you receive from me, compared to what
you deserve, as far as I can judge by your countenances."

Afterwards, taking his guests into the garden, he courteous-
ly demanded of them who they were. Saladin replied, " We
are merchants from Cyprus, and are going upon our affairs
to Paris." In some little time after, a su pper, entirely unexpect-
ed, was served up with great elegance and order, and the tables
being removed, Torello, had them conducted to their chambers,
where most sumptuous beds were prepared for them, and he in
like manner went to take his rest.

A servant was sent to Pavia to deliver a message to the lady,
who got together great numbers of their friends, inviting most of
the nobility, and setting forth all the rooms with rich furniture
of cloth of gold, fine tapestry, velvets, &c, according to his di-
rections. In the morning the gentlemen arose, and mount-
ed their horses, Saladin requesting somebody to direct him to
the best inn in Pavia, Torello said, "That I will do, be-
cause I have business there." So they rode along with him,
and whilst they supposed that he would carry them to the best
inn, he brought them directly to his own house, where were
about fifty of the principal persons of the city ready to re-
ceive them. Saladin said, " Sir, this is not what we desired ;
you did enough for us last night." He made answer,
" Gentlemen, last night I was obliged to fortune, which sur-
prised you upon the road in such manner that you were
necessitated to take up with my little mansion ; but now you
will not refuse the favor of dining with me." Thus they
were prevailed upon, when they were conducted into several
apartments most richly set. out for their reception, and that no-
thing which he valued might be left unseen by them, he sent for
his lady. She, therefore, being a person of extraordinary beau-
ty, and most sumptuously attired, was speedily introduced be-
between her two little sons, when she very modestly and gen-
teely saluted them. At her coming, they arose, and received her
with great deference and respect, seating her down by them,
and taking great notice of the children. Torello, with much
entreaty, prevailed upon them to stay all that day. At due
time they went to bed, and when they arose in the morning,
instead of their wearied steeds, they found three strong, hand-
some, fresh ones ; which when Saladin saw, he turned to his
friends, and said: "A more courteous gentleman, I never
met with." After returning thanks, he and his atten-
dants got on horseback, and departed. The time now
drawing nigh for the march of the forces, and great pre-

NOVEL IX. 4S3

parations being made every where, Torello, notwithstanding
the prayers and tears of his lady, resolved to go; and
being about to mount his. horse, he said to her, whom he
loved most affectionately, " My dear, you see I am going
upon this expedition, as well for the glory of my body, as the
safety of my soul ; I commend my honor and every thing
else to your care ; and, as my return is urn ertain, I request
this one favor, that, happen what will to me, if you have no
certain account of my being alive, you would only wait a year,
a month, and a day, without marrying again, reckoning from
the day of my leaving you." The lady, who wept exceedingly,
thus replied, " I know not how I shall be able to bear the
grief in which you leave me involved, but, if I should outlive
it, and any thing happen amiss to you, you may live and
die assured, that 1 shall live and die the wife of Torello, and
of his memory;" and taking a ring from her finger, she gave it
him, and said, "If I should chance to die before your return,
remember me always when you look upon this." He received
it, and bidding every one farewell, mounted his horse, and
rode away. He soon joined the Christian army ; which was
visited by a mortal pestilence, that swept away a great part
of the people ; and the thin remains of it were, by the good
fortune of Saladin, taken prisoners almost to a man, it was
Torello's fortune to be sent to Alexandrina; where, he was
driven by necessity to undertake the care of hawks, of which
he was a great master. By that means he soon fell under the
notice of Saladin, who made him his falconer. Torello, who
neither remembered the soldan nor the soldan him, had all
his thoughts at Pavia, and was often contriving how to
make his escape, though without success. It happened
one day, as Saladin was talking with him about his hawks,
that he chanced to laugh, when he made a certain motion with
his lips, which; Saladin, when he was at his house in Pavia,
had taken particular notice of. Upon which he recollected
him, and looking stedfastly at him, believed he was the same
person. Now leaving his former discourse, he said, "Tell me,
Christian, of what country in the west art thou?" "My
lord," replied he, " I am a Lombard, and born in a city called
Pavia." When Saladin heard that, he became assured of what
he doubted before, so taking him joyfully in his arms, he said,
" You are Signor Torello dTstria, and I am one of the
three merchants whom you and your lady entertained so
sumptuously : and now the time is come for me to convince
you what my merchandise is, as I said at my leaving you
might possibly happen." Torello, at hearing these words,
was overwhelmed with joy. So, after great expressions of
joy, he clothed him in royal apparel, and having recom-
mended him to all his principal barons, he commanded them
to shew him the same respect and honor as they would him-
self, which accordingly they all observed, especially the two
lords who had accompanied Saladin to his house.

494 TENTH DAY.

Now there was amongst the Christians, on the day they
were surprised by Saladin, a gentleman of small esteem, dead
and buried, called Torrello di Dignes ; consequently, as To-
rello d'Istria was universally known through the whole army,
on account of his nobility, whoever heard that Torello was
dead, concluded it was he of 1 stria, and not of Dignes: and
they being all taken prisoners immediately upon it, pre-
vented people's being undeceived; it would be tedious to shew
the trouble and affliction of his lady, who, after wearing out some
months in mourning, and beginning now to be a little com-
forted, was much pressed by her brethren and relations, to mar-
ry again. She several times, with tears, withstood their soli-
citations, till, being over importuned, she consented at last,
if they would let her wait the time prescribed by Torello.

Things proceeding thus at Pavia,'and there wanting 'only
eight days for her taking a second husband, Torello suppo-
sing likewise that no tidings had come to Pavia 'concerning
him, he took it for granted that she would be married again,
and laid it so much to heart, that he was brought to death's
door ; which, when Saladin understood, he came to visit him,
and learning the cause of his disorder, he reproved him for
not acquainting him with it sooner, desiring him neverthe-
less, to be easy, and promising that he should be at Pavia,
within the time, and he told him in what manner. To-
rello gave credit to these words, and he began to press Sala-
din about it; who, therefore, had recourse to a necromancer,
whose skill he bad made trial of, desiring he would convey
Torello to Pavia in one night's time. The necromancer pro-
mising it should be done, Torello said " I beg it may be
done immediately, for to-morrow is the last day of my being
expected." This Saladin promised, and had a most beautiful
bed put up in his grand hall, made of velvet and cloth of
gold over which was a most curious counterpane, wrought
with the largest pearls and other precious stones, of an
immense value. When this was done, he ordered Torello
to be clothed after the Saracen manner, with the richest and
most beautiful robes that were ever seen, and a large turban
folded upon his head ; and, it now growing late, he went
to the chamber where Torello was ; began to weep, and say,
Torello, the hour is now at hand which must divide us."
Saladin then embraced him, and saying, " God be' with you ! "
departed out of the chamber, weeping. The necromancer
now came with a certain draught, and made him drink it
off, when he was immediately cast into a profound sleep. He
was then laid upon that magnificent bed, on which was
set a most beautiful crown, of prodigious value, written
upon to shew that it was designed by Saladin as a present to
Torello's lady. On his finger he put a ring, wherein was
a carbuncle, that appeared like a flaming torch, the value of
which was not to be estimated. To his side was a sword <rirt

NOVEL IX. 495

with rich ornaments. About his neck was a kind of solitaire
embellished with pearls, and other precious stones. And, last-
ly, on each side were two great basins of gold, full* of. double
ducats, with many strings of pearl, rings, girdles, and other
things. When 'this was done, the bed, with Torello upon it,
was carried away, and set in the church of San Pietro di
Pavia, according to his own request, where he was found
by the sacrist, fast asleep, in the morning, when he rung
to matins ; he, coming into the church with a light in
his hand, and seeing that rich bed, was frightened and ran
out. When the abbot and monks saw him in this confusion,
they inquired the reason, which the monk told them. They
then took more lights, and went all together into the church,
where they saw this wonderful rich bed, and the knight
laying upon it fast asleep. And, as they stood gazing at a
distance, the virtue of the draught being gone, Torello awoke,
and fetched a deep sigh ;" at which the monks and abbot all
cried out, "Lord have mercy upon us I" and away they ran.
Torello now opened his eyes, and looked around him, and see- .
ing the monks all run away, he began to call the abbot by name,
arid to beg of him to entertain no doubts in the affair, for that
he was Torello, his nephew. The abbot, at hearing this, was
still more afraid, as he supposed him dead many months be-
fore ; When Torello said, " Father, I am alive, God be thank-
ed, and now returned from beyond sea." The abbot, not-
withstanding he was dressed after the turkish fashion, soon
remembered him ; and said, " Son, you are welcome home."
And he added, " there was nobody here but was fully persuad-
ed of your death, insomuch, that, I must tell you, your la-
dy, Madam Adalieta, is now married again, contrary to her
own will, and this morning she is to go home to her new
husband, and every thing is prepared for solemnizing the
nuptials."

Begging of them to say nothing of his return, he then
desired to know who that second husband was, and the
abbot informed him ; when he ^replied, "I should be glad,
before she knows of my return, to see how she relishes this
wedding ; therefore, for my sake, I wish you would contrive
so that we may be both there." The abbot answered, that
he would with all his heart. When it was daylight, he
sent to the bridegroom to let him know, that he and a friend
would come together to his wedding. The bridegroom replied,
that he should be obliged to them for the favor. And Tor-
ello, in the same habit in which he arrived, went along with
the abbot to the bridegroom's house, where he was wonder-
fully gazed at, though known by nobody ; Torello then was
seated at a table opposite to his wife, whom he beheld with
great pleasure, and thought he saw uneasiness in her looks
at these nuptials. She would likewise give a look some-
times towards him, not out of any remembrance she had of

496 TENTH DAY.

him, being fully persuaded that he was dead. At last, when
he thought it a fit time to try if she would remember him, he
took the ring in his hand, which she had given him at his
departure, and calling one of the young men that was in
waiting, he said, "Tell the bride, from me, that it is a custom
in our country, when any stranger as I may be, is at such an
entertainment as this, for the bride, in token of his being wel-
come, to send the cup in which she herself drinks, full of wine ;
when, after the stranger has drunk what he pleases, and cov-
ered the cup, the bride then pledges him with the rest."
The 'youth delivered the message to the lady, who ordered
a large golden cup, to be filled with wine, and to be car-
ried to him. Torello, having put the ring into his mouth,
contrived to let it fall into the cup, without any one perceiv-
ing it ; and leaving but little wine' therein, he covered it
up, and sent it to the lady, and, in compliance with the cus-
tom, uncovered and put it to her mouth, when she saw
the ring; and knowing it to be the same she had given her
husband, she took it, and began to look attentively at the
supposed stranger ; when calling him to mind, like a distract-
ed person, she threw all the tables down before her, crying out,
" This is my lord ! This is truly Torello !" Then running to
him clasped her arms about him in such a manner, as if she
would never separate from him more. Torello, gave them
a full account of what had befallen him to that hour ; conclu-
ding, that he hoped the gentleman who had married his wife,
supposing he was dead,;would not be disobliged, seeing he was
alive, that he took her back again. The bridegroom, though
he was not a little disappointed, replied freely, and as a
friend, that no doubt he might do whaf he pleased with his
own. She consequently gave up the ring and crown which
she had received from her new husband, and put on that ring
instead, which she had taken out of the cup, and likewise
the crown sent to her by Saladin ; and, leaving the bridegroom's
house, she went home with all nuptial pomp along with Torello,
whither his friends and relations, whom his loss had rendered
disconsolate, went joyfully to see him and pay him their res-
pects. Having signified his happy arrival to Saladin, he re-
mained from that time his friend and faithful servant, living
many years afterwards with his most worthy spouse, and con-
tinuing more generous and hospitable than ever.

497

THE TENTH DAY.

NOVEL X.

The Marquis of Saluzzo having been prevailed upon by his sub-
jects to marry, made choice of a countryman's daught r, by
whom he had two children, which he pretended to put to death,
afterwards, he had his own daughter brought home, as if he
had espoused her, whilst his wife was sent away. At length,
he brought her home again, presented her children to her, and
ever afterwards loved and honored her as his lady.

The king's long novel being concluded, Dioneus, as the only
person left to speak, began in this manner:

It is a long time ago, that, amongst the marquisses of Saluz-
zo the principal or head of the family was a youth, called
Gualtieri, who, as he was a bachelor, spent his whole time
in hawking and hunting ; But this being disagreeable to his
subjects, they often pressed him to marry, that he might neither
die without an heir, nor they be left without a lord; offering
to provide a lady for him, of such a family, that he should have
reason to be satisfied. He replied, " You urge me to do a thing
which I was fully resolved against, considering what a difficult
matter it is to find a person of a suitable temper, nevertheless, I
will agree to do so. Therefore, that I may have nobody to
blame but myself, should it happen amiss, I will make my own
choice." The honest men replied, that they were well satisfied.
Now he had taken a fancy, some time before, to a poor country
girl, who lived in a village not far from his palace, accordingly,
he summoned all his subjects together, and said to them, " Gen-
tlemen, the time is now come when I shall fulfil my promise to
you ; I have found a young woman in the neighbourhood after my
own heart, whom I intend to espouse, and bring home in a
very few days." The people all declared themselves pleased,
and promised to regard her in all things as their mistress. Pre-
parations were made for a most noble feast : he had also most rich
and costly robes made, shaped by a person that seemed to be of
the same size with his intended spouse ; and provided a girdle,
ring, and fine coronet, with everything requisite for a bride. And
when the day appointed was come, he mounted his horse, attend-
ed by all his friends and vassals. So on they rode to the village,
and when he was come near the father's house he saw her carrying
some water from the well, in great haste, to go afterwards with
some of her acquaintance to see the new marchioness ; when he
called her by name, which was Griselda, and inquired where
her father was. She modestly replied, " My gracious lord, he
is in the house." He then alighted from his horse, command
ing them all to wait for him, and went alone into the cottage,

498 TENTH DAY.

where he found the father, who was called Giannueolo, and said
to him, " Honest man, I am come to espouse thy daughter ; but
would first ask her some questions before thee." He then
inquired, whether she would make it her study .to please him
and not be uneasy at any time, whatever he should do or
say. To which she answered, " Yes." He ordering the rich ap-
parel to be brought had her clothed completely, and a co-
ronet set upon her head, after which, every one being in amaze,
he said, " Behold, this is the person whom I intend for my wife,
provided she will accept of me for her husband." Then, turning
towards her, who stood -quite abashed, "Will you," said he,
" have me for your husband ?" she replied, "Yes, if so please
your lordship." "Well," he replied, "and I take you for my
wife." So he espoused herin that public manner, and mounting
her on a palfrey, conducted her honorably to his palace. In a
very short time, her discreet behaviour and good works were the
common subject of discourse. After they had lived together
some time, she brought forth a daughter, for which he made
great rejoicings. But wishing to make a trial of her patience
by long and intolerable sufferings : he began with harsh words
and an appearance of great uneasiness; telling her, that his sub-
jects were greatly displeased with her for her mean parent-
age. Which, when she heard, without changing countenance
or her resolution in any respect, she replied, "My Lord, pray
dispose of me as you think most for your honor and hap-
piness. Afterwards, having often told her, in general terms,
that his subjects could not bear with the daughter that was
born of her, he sent one of his servants, whom he instructed
what to do, who, with a very sorrowful countenance, said to
her, "Madam, I must either lose my own life, or obey my lord's
commands: now he has ordered me to take your daughter." She,
hearing these words, concluded that he had orders to destroy
the child. So she took it out of the cradle, kissed it, and gave
it her blessing; when, though her heart throbbed with mater-
nal affection, she tenderly laid it in the servant's arms, and said,
" Take it, and do what thy lord and mine has commanded ; but,
prithee, leave it not to be devoured by the fowls or wild beasts
unless that be his will." He acquainted the prince with what
she said ; who was surprised at her constancy, and he sent the
same person with it to a relation at Bologna, desiring her, with-
out revealing whose child it was, to see it carefully brought up
and educated. Afterwards <the lady was delivered of a son at
which he was extremely pleased. But not satisfied with what he
had already done, he began to persecute her still more ; saying
one day to her, " Since thou hast brought me this son, I am able
to live no longer with my people ; unless I dispose of this child
as I did the other ; and then to send thee away, in order to take
a wife more suitable to me." She heard this with a great deal of
resignation, making only this reply ; " My lord, study only your
own ease and happiness, without the least care for me ; for no-

NOVEL X. 499

thing is agreeable to me, but what is pleasing to yourself." Not
many days after, he sent for the son in the same manner as he
had done for the daughter; and had him conveyed to Bologna.
The people imagining that the children were put to death, blam-
ed him to the last degree. Soon afterwards, Gualtieci had coun-
terfeit letters come to him, as from Rome, acquainting all his
people, that his holiness thereby dispensed with his marrying
another, and turning away Griselda ; he had her brought be-
fore them, when he said, " Woman, by the pope's leave 1 may
dispose of thee, and take another wife. I intend to send thee
back to thy father's cottage, and afterwards to make choice of
one more suitable in quality to myself." It was with the utmost
difficulty she could now refrain from tears ; and she replied,
" My lord, behold the ring with which you espoused me ; I de-
liver it to you." So she left his palace and returned weeping to
her father's, to thegreat grief of all who sawher, and went asusual
about her father's little household affairs, bearing this fierce trial
of adverse fortune with the greatest courage imaginable. The
prince then gave it out that he was to espouse a daughter of
one of the counts of Panago : and, he sent for Griselda, and
said to her, " I am going to bring this lady home, whom I have
just married: as, therefore thou art best acquainted with the
state of the house, I would have thee make such provision as
thou shalt judge proper, and invite what ladies thou wilt, even
as though thou wert mistress of the house ; and when the mar-
riage is ended, return thee home to thy father's again." Though
these words, pierced like daggers to the heart of Griselda, yet
she replied, " My lord, I am ready to fulfil all your commands."
She then, went into the palace, in her coarse attire, and direct-
ed what was to be done.

Now Gualtieri, who had his children carefully brought up
at Bologna, had sent to his kinswoman there, to desire she
would bring them, with an honorable retinue, to Saluzzo.

Accordingly, they all set forwards, and after travelling some
days, reached Saluzzo about dinner-time ; when they found
the whole country assembled, waiting to see their new lady.
The young lady was most graciously received by all the women
present ; and being come into the hall where the tables were all
covered, Griselda, meanly dressed as she was, went cheerfully
to meet her, saying, " Your ladyship is most kindly welcome."
The ladies were now seated, and the marquis thinking that he
had seen enough with regard to his wife's patience, thought it
time to take her from that anguish which he supposed she might
conceal under her firm and constant deportment. So, making
her come before all the company, he said, with a smile, " What
thinkest thou Griselda, of my bride?" " My lord," she replied,
" I like her extremely well ; and if she be as prudent as she
is fair you may be the happiest man in the world with her :
but I most humbly be? you would not take those heart-break-
ing measures with this lady as you did with your last wife."

500 TENTH DAY.

Gualtieri perceiving, that though Grisekla thought that person
was to be his wife, that she nevertheless answered* him with
great humility and sweetness of temper, he made her sit by him
and said, " Griselda, it is now time for you to reap the fruit of
your long patience, and they who have reputed me to be cruel,
unjust, and a monster in nature, may know that what I have
done has been done with a view to teach you how to behave
as a wife ; and to shew them how to choose and keep a wife ;
therefore I had a mind to prove you by harsh and injurious
treatment ; and not being sensible that you have ever trans-
gressed my will, either by word or deed, I intend to restore in
one hour what I had taken away from you in many, and to
make you the sweetest recompence for the many bitter pangs
I have caused you to suffer. Accept, therefore, this young
lady, whom you thought my spouse, and her brother, as your
children and mine. They are the same which you and many
others believed that I had been the means of cruelly murder-
ing ; and I am your husband, who love and value you above
all things; assuring myself, that vno, person in the world can
be happier in a wife than I am."

_ With this, he embraced her most affectionately, and they
went where their daughter was sitting, tenderly saluting both
her and her brother, undeceiving them and the whole compa-
ny. In a few days the marquis took Giannucolo from his drud-
gery, and maintained him as his father-in-law, and so he
lived very comfortably to a good old age.

Dioneus's novel being now concluded, the king arose, and
said, " To-morrow you are sensible, it will have been fifteen
days since we, by way of amusement, and for the preservation
of our lives, came out of Florence, avoiding all those melan-
choly reflections which continually haunted us in the city, since
the beginning of that fatal pestilence. Lest, however, people
put a bad construction upon our being so long together, I hold
it advisable for us to return from whence we came."

This occasioned great debates, but at last, it was thought safest
and best to comply with the king, he consequently called the
master of the household, and, after giving proper directions for
the next morning, dismissed them.

The following morning, they arose by break of day, and the
master of the household having sent away their carriages, they
returned, under the conduct of their discreet king, to Florence,
when the three gentlemen left the seven ladies in New St. Ma-
ry's church, where they first met ; and when the ladies
thought fit, they repaired to their several houses.

CLAY, SMITH, AND CO. PRINTERS,
EAST HARPING STREET, QOUGH SQtFAR'E, FLEET. SHU El

8

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